


hardly ever what we dream

by abovetheruins



Category: American Idol RPF, The Last Unicorn - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, M/M, Unicorns, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 12:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4347914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovetheruins/pseuds/abovetheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his people scattered to the winds and the fearsome Red Bull on his heels, Prince David Archuleta has no choice but to seek refuge on earth. There he meets musician David Cook, who has no idea of David's lineage nor of the danger he faces by taking in the wayward prince. </p>
<p>Basically a modern take (of sorts) on <i>The Last Unicorn</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hardly ever what we dream

**Author's Note:**

> Written because this fandom is sadly lacking in unicorn prince!Archie. Inspired for the most part by the film/book _The Last Unicorn_ , though I did draw on some elements from Bruce Coville’s _Unicorn Chronicles_ and various bits of unicorn lore as well. Title from a quote by Schmendrick the Magician in the TLU: “We are not always what we seem, and hardly ever what we dream.”
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful rajkumari905 for offering her beta services and for dealing with all of my wonky tense changes and missing commas/words like a boss. You’re totally a superwoman, Pri ❤ A huge thanks to asweetdownfall as well for allowing me to whine at her via text when I was feeling down and out about completing this thing, and for being totally optimistic and encouraging! Last (but certainly not least), thank you so much to sarageek16 for the absolutely _gorgeous_ art (gawk at that cover, guys, seriously) and the amazing playlist (and for choosing my story in the first place, haha!) She exceeded all of my expectations and then some, and she definitely deserves lots of love for her amaaaazing work!

 

The smell of blood was thick in the air –  _his_  blood, streaming from the gash in his side where his armor had been shorn and staining Brooke's white coat as it flowed from the wound. His vision swam, the forest closing in on him on all sides, panic and pain and the heavy weight of fatigue making him dizzy. He could feel Brooke's muscles trembling beneath him, her sides heaving. They couldn't keep up this gait much longer.  
  
The forest – his forest, his  _home_  – was shrouded in darkness now, unfamiliar. Dangerous. The safety he had felt among its trees and mossy slopes all of his young life had fled in the wake of the creature that dogged his steps. He could  _feel_  it, a thick, choking presence like a stain on what once had been a pure, clean landscape, the thundering behemoth with its flaming eyes and sharp hooves and wicked horns.  
  
_Run, little prince_. He flinched at the voice, a hoarse rasp that bled into his ears from all sides.  _Run with your vassal, as far as the winds may carry you. Run and know that your kingdom lies in ruins at your back. Know that your people lie dead at your heels._  
  
A whinny of pain and terror escaped Brooke, her sleek white head wrenching from side to side as if to shake the mocking voice free of her ears. He buried his face in her soft white mane, fingers clenched in the downy strands, and willed his ears to close off against that smoky rasp. Lies, it spewed lies from its poisonous, rotten mouth. His people may have been scattered to the winds, separated, but they were not  _gone_. There was still hope.  
  
_Up ahead, David._  Brooke's voice washed through his mind like a cleansing tide, soft and clear even in the midst of his pain and panic.  _Prepare yourself. The amulet!_  
  
David nodded, clutching the pendant dangling wildly from his neck with one hand and clenching the other around the hilt of his sword. The gem glowed fiercely, the lifeblood of his people pulsing hotly within its faceted depths, and David closed his eyes as he thought of his family, his mother and brother and sisters all scattered to the far corners of the world. He had no way to determine their safety, no way to know if they had escaped the wreckage of their kingdom, no way to know if the creature pursuing them was speaking the truth and his family was actually –  
  
As if she knew the frantic nature of his thoughts, Brooke put on a burst of speed. David could see an opening in the foliage up ahead, the burgeoning sunrise sending thin shafts of light shining through the gaps in the trees. Beyond the break he saw nothing but water, miles upon miles of it stretching far into the horizon. They were running out of ground.  
  
Brooke barreled them towards the water and what David knew to be the sheer cliff face that preceded it, bursting from the forest at a dead gallop. Behind them he could hear the crunch of branches beneath their pursuer’s bulk and the thunder of its hooves as they struck the ground. The heat of its body reached out for them, threatening to smother them both.  
  
_Brooke_. He didn’t bother trying to speak; she wouldn’t be able to hear him over the chaos around them.  _Brooke. We have to fight. We can’t run any longer._  
  
Brooke didn’t acknowledge him, but she had no choice but to stop at the cliff’s edge, twisting around and trumpeting at the approaching danger. David scrambled off her back, drawing his sword from the hilt and twisting toward the creature. At his side Brooke’s silvery form began to shift and change, leaving a slim woman standing in its place, blonde curls flying in the wind as she reached for the bow and arrow strapped to David’s back.  
  
He tossed her the weapon, digging his heels into the dirt as she nocked an arrow, the silver-pointed head blazing in the sunlight. He didn’t miss the way she altered her stance, stepping between him and the encroaching heat. Her nudity didn’t diminish the strength with which she held the bow, nor the fierceness of her gaze. She was a force to be reckoned with.  
  
"Go, David,” she said, her fingers tight around the curve of her bow. She let fly a shining arrow into the distance, striking the blaze of red-hot flame that was racing toward them. David flinched back at the pained roar that echoed through the forest, boots inches from the edge of the cliff. He could hear the roar of the waves crashing far below.  
  
He gripped his sword. "I can fight. Brooke, I can – "  
  
Brooke shook her head, golden hair flying. "There's no time! Go,  _now_!"  
  
"But Brooke – !"  
  
Crying out, Brooke turned and loosed an arrow. It flew over David's left shoulder, close enough for the pointed arrowhead to scrape across his cheek. He was never in any danger – Brooke was a master with the weapon – but the shock of the shot itself was enough. David flinched backwards, losing the sliver of ground between himself and the cliff's edge. As he toppled over the side he caught one last glimpse of Brooke's face, her eyes wide and wet, and the massive red beast thundering toward her.  
  
There was nothing he could do. Tears stinging his eyes, David clutched the amulet tightly between his trembling fingers, murmuring the words he knew by heart.  
  
There was a rushing sound in his ears, louder than even the wind buffeting his body as he fell, followed by a wrenching sensation, as though a great hand had wrapped around his heart and  _pulled_ , and then David knew no more.  
  


~*~

  
The sun had barely breached the horizon when David Cook entered the park, sneakers thudding against the familiar wooded path and breath steaming slightly in the chilly air. October was nearly over, the trees a blend of reds and yellows and oranges, and the cold air was a pleasant shock against his skin.  
  
He'd never been a morning person, yet he enjoyed the peace and the solitude that came with waking with the dawn. He usually only came across one or two fellow joggers during his run, which was fine by him. As much as he may have loathed waking up early for any reason, the stillness of the morning and the peace that came with running alone with nothing but his music in his ears was worth it.  
  
As a bend in the path took him up along a slope, his sneakers crunching the fallen leaves that lay scattered over the path, he spared a thought toward what he’d do with the rest of his day. He had nothing to do and nowhere to go; the last tour had wrapped up a few days ago, planning for the next one wouldn't even begin for a few more months, and Cook was determined to enjoy his time off. Maybe he'd tackle the half-finished tracks that were waiting in his studio at home, or give his mom a call, or go hang out with the guys.  
  
Or maybe, he thought, grinning, he’d hole up in his bed with Dublin and Netflix and be unrepentantly lazy the entire day. He’d earned it, after all.  
  
The road evened out, Cook’s breath rushing past his lips a little harder as he cleared the small slope, and he blinked sweat from his eyes as he rounded a bend in the road. There was a bench up ahead, settled beneath a tree by the side of the path, and there he rested, slumping down in the seat as he caught his breath. He’d give it a few minutes and then return to the car, go home and make himself something to eat, and then –  
  
He grinned. Well, the rest was up to him.  
  
He spent a few blissful minutes with his head tilted back, eyes closed as the crisp breeze blew through his hair and dried the sweat on his face, and hummed a bar or two of a melody that had been stuck in his head for the past few days. His fingers followed the beat on his knee, tapping against his skin, and before long he felt the familiar itch in his fingertips, the urge to grab his guitar and sequester himself in his studio so he could bring the composition to life.  
  
That, he knew, was his cue to head home, so after checking that his keys were still in his pocket and tightening his laces, Cook set off back the way he had come.  
  
It was as he was nearing the base of the hill he’d just clambered up a few moments before that he noticed something strange – the sky had darkened considerably, the sun hidden behind dark clouds and the air heavy around him. It felt like the air before a storm, and Cook kept a wary eye on the sky, cursing the weather report that had mentioned nothing about rain and tugging the buds from his ears so he could wrap them around his phone and stuff it in the pocket of his hoodie, just in case the sky opened up before he could make his way back to his car.  
  
_Not the best start to my vacation_ , he thought irritably, pumping his legs a little harder as he ran, hoping to beat the downpour. The smell of ozone was thick in the air, the cool, brisk breeze that had been blowing all morning gone in the wake of that peculiar scent, iron and a fuzzy sort of heat that made sweat break out anew on the back of his neck.  
  
_Not yet, not yet_ , he repeated like a mantra, his legs burning as he took a turn in the path.  _Don’t rain, don’t –_  
  
Something fell from the sky, striking the ground right in front of him and sending Cook reeling backward. He hit the ground hard, a muffled, “Shit!” escaping his lips as the impact jarred his bones, left him gasping and wincing in pain as he struggled into a sitting position, rubbing the ache in his lower back.  
  
“What the fuck?” he muttered, clenching his teeth in pain as he peered at whatever the fuck had just landed in front of him.  
  
It was a… a person.  
  
They were curled away from Cook, tucked into a ball on the ground with their knees drawn up toward their chest and their head lowered, nothing visible save their short, dark hair.  
  
“What the  _fuck_.” Cook leaned over them, pain momentarily forgotten as he took in the strange sight. On closer inspection he could see the person was a boy, but the way he was dressed gave Cook absolutely no clue as to where he’d come from.  
  
He was wearing  _armor_. The lot of it was silver and nearly glowed in the thin sunlight slowly filtering down through the heavy, dark clouds, which were – huh – disappearing even as Cook tilted his head back to look at them. Within moments the sky was once again awash with red and gold, the rising sun creeping steadily higher over the horizon, and Cook spent a few moments being completely fucking bewildered before he remembered the kid.  
  
What looked like a kid, anyway. He couldn’t even begin to guess at the boy’s age, and the armor (seriously, why the fuck was he wearing  _armor_  in the middle of the park?) nearly seemed to swallow the guy, made him seem smaller than he might actually have been.  
  
“Uh, hello?” Cook tried, nudging the boy’s shoulder. He received no response; the boy’s eyes remained closed, his lips drawn down in a painful grimace. A cursory sweep of the boy’s body led Cook to a nasty looking gash in the armor, right along the kid’s side. Blood speckled the edges and had long since dried, tarnishing the silver with rust red.  
  
“Shit… “ Cook scrambled onto his knees, leaning over the guy to press a hand to his forehead. Kid was burning up, his brows furrowed, no doubt in pain.  
  
Cook reached into his pocket for his phone, though his mind blanked as he looked at the screen. Should he call for an ambulance? He had no idea what to say –  _a guy in glowing armor fell out of the sky and I think he’s hurt, help?_  They’d think he was insane. He could take the kid to a hospital himself, but how in the hell was he supposed to get the guy out of the park?  
  
Cook glanced at the armor, his back protesting just at the sight of all of that (no doubt heavy) silver, and cursed at the fact that he’d even gotten out of bed that morning.

  
  
  
It took him nearly an hour to lug the guy out of the park and to his car. By the time he’d opened the back door and heaved the boy in, Cook was breathing like he’d run a marathon, sweat soaking his hoodie and every muscle in his arms and legs and back aching.  
  
He pressed his forehead to the steering wheel and drew in a few deep, slightly shaky breaths before he felt composed enough to drive, and even then he kept getting distracted, shooting looks at the unconscious boy in his back seat, his armor glinting in the sunlight filtering in through the car windows.  
  
He’d had a  _sword_. Cook hadn’t even noticed until he’d tucked his arms beneath the boy’s armpits and started pulling him down the path. It was strapped to his waist, unlike any sword Cook had ever seen (though it wasn’t like he’d actually seen any outside of the silver screen). It was twisted and tapering, and it seemed to reflect all of the colors of the rainbow, glinting blue in the light one moment and then red or green the next. Cook didn’t know what to make of it.  
  
He didn’t know what to make of that entire day, actually, or any of the events that had led him to this point, with a boy in armor slumped across his backseat bleeding from a wound in his side.  
  
The longer he drove, the less sure Cook was that he should take the boy to the hospital. He had no idea how to explain the armor, or the sword, not unless the kid woke up and could do it in his stead. He didn’t know if the guy was dangerous, how he’d fallen out of the sky the way he had (surely Cook had to have imagined that part, right? People didn’t just fall out of the goddamn sky), or what had hurt him in the first place.  
  
Cook glanced in the rearview mirror while he was idling at an intersection, taking in the haggard paleness of the boy’s face, the way his lips twisted in remembered pain or grief or something else, and made a split-second decision to stop by his house first. He could get the kid out of that armor, at least, maybe patch up his wound, see if he woke up. It’d be easier to get the guy medical attention if he wasn’t walking around like he’d just come from a goddamn renaissance fair.  
  
Mind made up, Cook pointed his car toward home.

  
  
  
The kid was still out cold by the time Cook pulled into his driveway. It took him nearly half an hour to get the guy inside the house – as slight as the boy looked, that armor weighed a fucking  _ton_. Cook didn't even try to take him as far as any of the bedrooms, laying him out along the length of the couch instead and staring, perplexed, at the shining silver armor. The blood splattered across the chest plate worried him most. He wasn’t sure if the boy was actually wounded underneath or if the blood was even his (and that opened up a whole other slew of concerns, because what the fuck had the kid been fighting to end up in this state?)  
  
Only one way to find out, Cook supposed, going for the boots.  
  
Twenty minutes and a handful of colorful expletives later Cook had a pile of gleaming silver metal lying in a heap at the foot of the couch, along with that strange sword, which Cook handled as carefully as possible. Underneath the boy was clad in nothing but a long shirt and thin pants made out of some soft white cloth Cook had never seen before, along with a necklace that hung around the boy’s neck on a thin silver chain. The shirt was ripped along the side where Cook could now see a long, thick gash running from just beneath the kid’s armpit to the swell of his hipbone.  
  
“Christ,” Cook muttered, moving towards the bathroom to grab the first aid kit from the medicine cabinet. He was torn, once again, between calling an ambulance or taking the kid straight to a hospital himself. Despite the size of the wound it didn’t look life-threatening, though; it wasn’t bleeding anymore, at any rate, but it wasn’t like Cook was a trained medical professional.  
  
He resolved to patch up the wound as best he could and see how the kid felt when he woke ( _if_  he woke, though Cook didn’t want to consider the alternative). He lifted the boy’s shirt up and off, trying to be gentle about it, taking in the slender chest and flat stomach at a glance, before digging in the first aid kit for bandages and disinfectant.  
  
He wiped the dried blood free of the wound with a warm, wet cloth, rust-colored flakes falling away with ease, and he took the time to study the stranger’s face. He was young, that much was evident, maybe late teens? Early twenties? His face was smooth of stubble or blemishes, lacking any trace of baby fat. On his brow was a strange discoloration, the skin there lighter and almost rose-colored. A birthmark, maybe? Short-haired, dark strands plastered to his forehead with sweat, and full lips settled in a slightly twisted line, as if he could feel the pain of his wound even in sleep.  
  
“What happened to you?” Cook was asking empty air, he knew; the boy didn’t wake, didn’t move, his eyes fluttering beneath his lids like he was dreaming. Couldn’t be anything good, Cook thought, popping the cap off some antibiotic ointment, if it had anything to do with what had given the boy that wound.  
  
Cook set patches of gauze to the gash and taped them down, cleaning any excess ointment with the now red-stained cloth, and packed the rest of the first aid kit away. He grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch and covered the boy with it, huffing out a breath as he looked at him. There wasn’t much else he could do until the kid woke up, at any rate, and a glance at the clock hanging on the wall (and the prompt rumbling of his stomach) reminded him that he hadn’t had breakfast yet, so Cook headed for the kitchen. Rounding up some breakfast for himself would provide a nice distraction, and maybe his mysterious guest would be hungry, too, once he woke up.

  
  
  
He’d just finished off an omelet, simple enough with the spare ingredients he’d had in his fridge, and had tucked a second one into the microwave when he heard a low groan filter in from the living room.  
  
Cook poked his head around the dividing wall separating the kitchen from the living room, and saw that the guy was shifting restlessly on the couch. Looked like the kid was finally coming around, which was a relief. He was turning his head from side to side, lips twisted in a frown, and Cook grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before moving into the room and approaching the couch slowly, not making any sudden moves in case he startled the kid.  
  
"Hey," he whispered, kneeling down so that he was on the boy's level. "Can you hear me?"  
  
The boy's eyes fluttered for a moment before parting slowly, revealing a sliver of clouded hazel.  
  
"B-Brooke... ?" His voice was barely more than a rasp. He moved as if to rise from the couch, a pained cry escaping him as he jostled his wound, and Cook quickly set the water on the side table so he could gently push the boy back down.  
  
"Hey, hey," he soothed, keeping his voice soft. “Don’t try to move, okay? You’ve been hurt.” For a moment he thought the kid hadn’t heard him; his eyes were traveling slowly across the room, blearily taking in his surroundings, before landing a little uneasily on Cook.  
  
“Who… who are you?” he asked, swallowing, his lips rubbing dryly against each other. Cook grabbed for the water and twisted the cap off, offering it to the boy. When he made to move forward, thinking the guy might be too weak to lift himself up, the boy flinched back, eyes wide, and Cook paused.  
  
“Hey, it’s okay.” He tilted the bottle in the guy’s direction, the contents sloshing around inside. “It’s water, just water. Here, you can – “ He thrust his arm out, waiting, and smiled gently when his mysterious guest took the bottle from his hand, sipping at the water at first and then gulping it down in a few long swallows. “My name’s David Cook,” Cook said, figuring the first order of business should be names if he wanted to have any hope of figuring out where this kid came from. “What about you?”  
  
“David,” the guy croaked, swallowed, and then tried again. “My name, it’s David, too. David Archuleta.”  
  
“You don’t say.” Strange coincidence, that. The last name wasn’t familiar, though it wasn’t like Cook knew all of his neighbors or anything. Kid might have been from around there. “How about you just call me Cook, then? Less confusion that way.”  
  
David didn’t say anything, just kept looking around the living room. Cook noticed that his hand had traveled up his chest to rest on the weird pendant dangling from his neck, the stone inside of it a cloudy blue color.  
  
Cook settled on the armchair by the sofa, moving slowly so that David wouldn’t be alarmed. “Can you tell me where you’re from?” he asked, “Or what happened to you?”  
  
David’s brows furrowed; he kept glancing at the pendant around his neck and biting his lip. “I – I was in a battle,” he said, pressing his palm to the gauze taped to his wound.  
  
“Uh, yeah.” Weird way to put it, but okay. “What were you fighting, anyway?” The gash hadn’t looked like a knife wound or an animal bite, but if whatever had attacked the guy was still hanging around, Cook would like to know.  
  
David didn’t seem to have heard him. He was back to surveying his surroundings, looking more confused and upset by the second. “Am I – is this Earth?” he asked finally, his voice faint.  
  
Alarm bells sprang to life in Cook’s head. “…Yes?” he said warily, more than a little uneasy now. The guy looked like he was about to burst into tears, and his grip around the stone at his throat was punishing, his fingers white-knuckled. His face had paled, too, and Cook readied himself to spring forward in case David passed out.  
  
“If I’m here, that means Brooke – “ David was mumbling, his lips bloodless, and Cook leaned forward, trying to hear him. “Oh gosh,  _Brooke_.” David’s hands slid over his face, fingers tangling in his short hair, and Cook drew up in alarm as a tell-tale sniff filtered from between the boy’s fingers, followed by a sob that had Cook off his chair and kneeling by the couch in moments.  
  
“Whoa, whoa.” Ignoring the fact that David had nearly bolted when he’d gotten too close before, Cook reached for his hands, easing them gently away from his flushed face. “David, hey, calm down. Who’s Brooke?”  
  
“My friend, she – “ David’s hands were trembling in Cook’s grip, but even so he could still feel the heavy calluses on the palms, spared a moment to wonder if they were from handling that sword. “She was trying to protect me, she should’ve come with me! I didn’t want to leave her – !”  
  
“Leave her?” Cook felt like he should stop the thread of this conversation; David seemed to be growing more upset by the second, his face flushed and a little splotchy as he cried, but Cook couldn’t deny that he was curious – curious and a little wary, anyway, because not much of what David had said was making much sense. “Where did you leave her?”  
  
“Facing the Red Bull!” David’s wet eyes met his own, desperate and searching, and Cook had no idea what to do with that gaze trained on him.  
  
“The… the what now?” he asked, tilting his head. What the fuck was the Red Bull?  
  
David rolled his eyes away as if his patience for the conversation had run out, throwing his legs over the side of the couch as he made to stand. “I have to – to go, I have to… !”  
  
“Whoa, wait!” Cook hurriedly stood up, palms out. David was wobbling on his feet, and Cook knew if he jostled his wound much more it would tear open again. “You can’t go anywhere yet, you need to rest. I can call your family for you but until then – “  
  
“You don’t understand!” David cried, trying to move past Cook, toward his armor. “They’re not  _here_ , I’m the only one who made it, and the Bull – he’ll kill them all if I don’t do something!”  
  
“What the hell are you talking about?” Cook finally snapped. The guy was out of his head – maybe he’d hit it when he fell?  
  
David’s own angered gaze fell on him, and Cook nearly took a step back at the fierceness of it. “I’m the Prince,” he said, drawing himself up despite the tremors still coursing through his legs. “It’s my duty to protect my family, my friends – I won’t just cower on Earth and let them be slaughtered!”  
  
“A Prince?” Cook asked, exasperated. “David, you’re not making any sense.”  
  
David’s eyes flashed. Before Cook could stop him, he lunged forward and wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword, brandishing the sharpened point of the blade straight at Cook’s chest.  
  
“Hey, there’s no need for that.” Cook raised his hands in a placating gesture, taking the time to mentally berate himself for lugging the kid home instead of to the nearest hospital.  
  
_Or psych ward_ , he thought uncharitably, eying the blade trained on his chest and hoping to God that his mother didn’t have to read about his death in the morning.  _Local man picks up lunatic with sword, ends up skewered_. He was never acting the part of Good Samaritan ever again.  
  
“I’m not crazy,” David whispered, and at Cook’s dubious glance between the sword and his face, David continued more firmly, “I’m  _not_. I’m the Prince, and I have to go home. I can’t stay here.”  
  
Instead of asking the pertinent questions like  _Where exactly is home?_  or telling David the truth ( _I don’t even want you here!_ ), Cook asked, “Prince of  _what_?” His tone was snide, his patience with David and with the whole situation depleted by that point, and he felt more than a little smug when anger sparked to life on David’s face.  
  
Granted, it probably wasn’t Cook’s wisest decision, purposefully pissing off the guy with the sword, but what the hell, he felt like living dangerously.  
  
“I’ll show you,” David gritted out between clenched teeth, and Cook watched in fascination as he began to –  
  
Well, expand was the only word Cook could think of. David was  _growing_ , his eyes flashing silver, a glow not unlike the kind that exuded from his armor pouring from his eyes and skin.  
  
Cook took a stumbling step back until he hit the opposite wall, eyes wide as the glow brightened and obscured David from view, shifting and growing in intensity until Cook couldn’t look at it anymore. He turned his face away, shutting his eyes against the glare, though even with them clenched shut he could still see spots dancing in front of his vision.

  
The glow faded away, but Cook didn’t open his eyes, not until he heard a strange shuffling breath, and then –  
  
“Holy  _shit_ ,” Cook breathed.  
  
There was a – a fucking  _horse_  in his living room, standing pretty as you please next to his couch and staring at him.  
  
Something that  _looked_  like a horse anyway, only… not. Its coat was white, like snow, and it looked smaller in build than any horse he’d ever seen. It had cloven hooves like a goat’s, and a silvery mane that fell nearly to the middle of its back. Its legs were long and thin with feathery white wisps of hair at its ankles, and its tail looked like a lion’s, long and curling with more silvery strands of hair flaring from the end. Above its eyes sprouted a horn, twisted and tapering and shining with an iridescent sheen that reminded Cook of – of –  
  
_The sword_ , he thought faintly, swallowing past the lump that had grown in his throat.  _Holy shit. Holy **shit**_.  
  
_Do you believe me now?_  The creature’s lips didn’t move, but Cook heard the sound of its voice in his head as clear as day. It was  _David’s_  voice, soft and raspy but with an almost musical quality to it that had not been there before.  
  
“I…. I… “ Cook couldn’t seem to get a word out, couldn’t seem to do much but stare wide-eyed at the –  
  
_Don’t say it_ , he thought.  _Don’t even fucking think it. There’s no fucking way_.

  
He made as if to move past it, or get around it, or  _something_ , but the thing – David? – moved forward, toward Cook, and that horn looked fucking sharp, and –  
  
"Watch out!" The thing's hooves were shredding grooves into his floor, and its horn was dangerously close to piercing the ceiling fan. "Look, I believe you, okay?" Pretty fucking hard not to, with a goddamned  _unicorn_  standing in his fucking living room. "Just... change back, already!"  
  
The unicorn – fuck, it really was David, wasn't it? – snorted, tossing his head and sending that silvery mane flying. The pendant around his neck shone a faint, iridescent blue. He stopped moving around, at least, but he wasn't doing much of anything else, just staring with those weirdly luminescent eyes at Cook, who (and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it) was quickly becoming just a tad bit hysterical.  
  
Despite his desire to just get the fuck out of there, the moment he caught David’s wince and noticed the blood dripping onto his floor, Cook moved forward despite himself. David shook his head back and forth, making a noise of distress, and his sides shivered in pain.  
  
“Hey, hey,” Cook soothed, lowering his voice and raising his hands in the universal sign of surrender. He may not have known what he was doing, or what was going on, but he didn’t want David to hurt himself worse than he already was. “It’s okay, just calm down. You’re bleeding.” The gash must have opened up again with all that moving around, not to mention the whole ‘changing into an animal that doesn’t fucking exist’ thing.  
  
David’s eyes followed him warily, but he didn’t make any move to back away from Cook’s hands, nor did he threaten Cook with that wicked looking horn. He curled his long legs underneath his body with a grace that didn’t seem possible, and at Cook’s slightly high-pitched, “Uh, could you – change back?” David merely closed his eyes and laid his slender head on the floor, that strange glow from before briefly illuminating his body, shrinking and shifting until David lay, human again, in its place.  
  
His eyes were hazy and clouded with pain, his hair damp with sweat. He was also naked, the strange clothing he’d been wearing before nowhere to be seen.  
  
Cook averted his eyes, realizing a second later that he would have to actually  _look_  at David in order to assess the damage to his wound. He grabbed the blanket off the couch and tucked it around David’s waist, leaving his torso uncovered so Cook could redress the wound while making sure David remained, er, decent.  
  
He grabbed the first aid kit off the side table and set about cleaning and redressing the gash along David’s side. It  _had_  reopened, blood welling along the torn edges, but it didn’t take long to clean it and tape new gauze over the wound.  
  
By the time he finished David was once again asleep, no doubt exhausted from the pain and whatever energy he’d had to expound turning into that… thing. Cook valiantly did not think  _unicorn_ , even though that had been precisely what it was, nor did he allow himself to think that David was apparently a Prince of them.  
  
Jesus Christ, what a day.  
  
He wrapped the blanket more securely around David and lifted him onto the couch, making sure he was sleeping peacefully before slumping back down to the ground, tilting his head back against the couch.  
  
A scrabbling of nails on hardwood preceded Dublin careening down the stairs and into the living room, the Scottish terrier taking one look at the new occupant on the couch and bounding over to nose at his hand. Cook shot him an annoyed glare.  
  
“Where were you ten minutes ago?” he asked, nudging the dog away from the couch even though he doubted anything would wake David now. “Some guard dog you are.”  
  
Dublin merely looked at him, tail wagging furiously, and Cook sighed, settling back down against the couch to wait for David to wake up.  
  


~*~

  
When David awoke he didn’t open his eyes, choosing to lie in silence a few moments longer to delay the inevitable realization that he was on Earth, alone, and that Brooke was –  
  
_Stop it_. He swallowed hard a couple of times, until the stinging in his eyes subsided, and tried to take stock of his injury instead. The wound had been deep, and he’d lost a lot of blood between his frantic flight through the forest and his subsequent arrival on Earth, but the human – Cook, wasn’t it? – had done an adequate job at patching him up. When he had gotten a little of his strength back he’d be able to heal himself, but until then…  
  
Until then he had no choice but to wait. He couldn’t face the Red Bull on his own, even uninjured. Even with the rest of his family it might not be enough, and his amulet remained dark and unresponsive. No one else had made it to Earth yet. What if his family was still running from the beast? What if they hadn’t made it? And his people…  
  
His advisors, his friends, the  _children_ … what had become of all of them in the devastation? The castle had been in ruins when he and Brooke had made their escape, crumbling around them as they fled. David hadn’t wanted to go, had wanted to stand with the castle guards and fight, but his mother had pressed her hand to his cheek, Jazzy and Amber clutching tearfully at her dress, Claudia and Daniel clad in their armor with their own vassals by their side, and urged them all to flee.  
  
“You have to go,” his mother had told him, her voice urgent. Outside the walls of the castle, his  _home_ , there had been screaming, the trumpeting of the guards as they faced down the Red Bull, and the hoarse bellow of the beast as it trampled the earth beneath its hooves.  
  
“Mama, I can fight!” he’d protested, even though he knew they stood no chance. The Bull had attacked so suddenly, had caught them all off guard. Everything was chaos. “I can – “  
  
“ _David_.” His mother’s eyes had been wide and wet; he could feel the way her hands trembled. “It won’t be enough, you know that, and I won’t risk my children. Go with Brooke, make your way to Earth.”  
  
“But you – “  
  
“I’ll be fine.” His mother had tried to smile at him, but all David had been able to see was the fear in her eyes. Even she had doubted the truth of her words. “I’ll be right behind you, I promise, once I’ve seen our people to safety. We’ll meet on Earth.”  
  
He’d hugged her tightly, shaking with the knowledge that he might not see her again, and done the same with his siblings. Even Daniel, usually so irascible when it came to showing any familial affection, had clutched tightly to David’s shoulders, and his eyes had been damp as he pulled away.  
  
They had all taken separate routes out of the kingdom, each with a vassal to guard their footsteps. David had felt too keenly as though they were retreating out of cowardice, even though he knew they had no choice. Still, as he and Brooke headed away from the castle grounds, the Bull’s thundering roar echoing behind them, his eyes had burned with the knowledge that his home was crumbling to ruin at his back, and he – the Prince – had done nothing to stop it.  
  
David opened his eyes, staring hard at the ceiling until they stopped burning. The Bull had followed them, its stench – cold and cloying, like iron – clinging to the air as they fled. David had tried to stand against it, Brooke at his side with her arrows flying, one after the other, into the Bull’s hide, but even with blood streaming from its sides and steaming in the pungent air, nothing had stopped the Bull’s rampage. One pass of its massive horns had shredded David’s armor and cut deep into his flesh, and Brooke had shifted, urging David onto her back and into a full gallop with no choice but to retreat.  
  
David had never seen the Bull before, only heard tales of its ferocity and fearsome size. To have such a behemoth chasing after him, its body wreathed in blistering flames, its eyes pits of black, and its massive hooves striking sparks from the ground, had filled him with such fear that he’d barely been able to stand for it, his hand shaking around the hilt of his sword.  
  
He felt like a coward for it, and a failure. What sort of warrior was he? What sort of Prince couldn’t stand and fight for his people?  
  
“Hey, you okay?”  
  
David wearily turned his head, his thoughts weighing heavy and dark on his mind, and caught sight of the human that had taken him in. The man was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, back pressed to the front of it, and he was watching David with a mix of curiosity and wariness on his face.  
  
David didn’t blame him. He had overdone it, changing forms so soon after using the amulet. It didn’t take any magic on his part to shift from one to the other, but putting any strain on a body still reeling from the magical drain that came with traveling between worlds was foolish (and indeed, even dangerous) on his part.  
  
He had known nothing short of visual proof would convince the human that David was who he claimed to be, however. He knew that the people of this world had, um, trouble believing in creatures like him, and he’d been angry after Cook had scoffed at his claim. David was proud of his lineage, proud of his people; he’d only wanted to show Cook the proof of it.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, swallowing once to wet a mouth gone dry. “For scaring you. For… threatening you. I wouldn’t have hurt you, I just – I needed you to believe me.”  
  
“Pretty hard not to, after that little spectacle,” Cook said after a long pause, lips curling into a crooked grin. It wobbled for a moment and then fell completely from his face, until he just looked confused. “Uh… just, tell me something? Did you really fall from the sky, back there? I didn’t hallucinate that part?”  
  
David’s lips twitched of their own accord. “No, that was real. I – the amulet – “ He lifted the pendant from his neck, twisting it in his hands. “It’s how I got here.”  
  
Cook was silent for a moment. David didn’t try to interrupt the pensive quiet, caught up once again in a flurry of increasingly panic-stricken thoughts, the safety of his family and what he would do should he have to travel back home alone at the forefront of his mind. He bit his lower lip, the fear and anxiety bubbling up inside his chest until he felt like he would choke on it.  
  
“Where exactly  _are_  you from?” Cook asked eventually, and David latched onto the query, desperate for something else to focus on.  
  
“It’s… it doesn’t have a name, not in the human language, but it’s… it’s basically like Earth? Only with less humans and more – “  
  
“Unicorns?” Cook offered weakly, brows raised like he couldn’t even believe he’d said the word.  
  
David laughed weakly, tilting his head back against the cushion beneath him. “Yes, but there are others, too. Creatures that no longer had a place on Earth, or were driven from their homes when humans populated the area, built their cities.”  
  
“I’d ask what other creatures you’re talking about,” Cook said, “but uh, I think my brain is overtaxed as it is.” He was looking a little green around the edges now; David absently wondered if the man was in some sort of shock, which… wouldn’t be unusual, considering the circumstances. “When you say that it’s  _like_  Earth, you don’t mean that, uh… ?”  
  
“I’m not an alien!” David sputtered, biting his lip to contain a laugh as Cook scowled.  
  
“Hey, it wouldn’t be a huge leap after what I’ve seen today!”  
  
David shook his head. “My home is… it’s not another world in the way you’re thinking – it’s not on another planet so much as it’s like… like a shadow of Earth. The two are connected, like two sides of the same coin.”  
  
“Is that why those things – “ Cook pointed at the amulet cradled in David’s palm. “ – carry you from one to the other?”  
  
“Yes, though… “ David’s fingers tightened, curling around the faceted blue stone. “It takes a lot of magic, moving between worlds.” And therein lied the crux of the matter. David couldn’t leave Earth, couldn’t return home, not until his reserves of magical power had been restored. He relayed as much to Cook, explaining it in terms that would hopefully make sense, though he could tell Cook was still having a hard time believing everything that David was telling him. “My family… they were supposed to follow me here. We were supposed to meet. I… I don’t know where they are, or if they’re okay, or if the Bull… “  
  
He didn’t realize until Cook’s hand had curled over his that he’d started crying again, tears leaking sluggishly from his eyes.  
  
“Hey, it’s okay,” Cook said softly, the palm of his hand warm where it curled over David’s, and David hiccupped on a sob. In the midst of terror – for his family, for his home and the people left behind – David was more gratified than he could say by even that small amount of comfort.  
  
“Look,” Cook said, once David’s tears had run their course and he had slumped back down against the sofa, “you can – you can stay here, until you figure things out. Until you can go home or whatever, or one of your family members shows up.”  
  
David shook his head, peering at Cook through wet eyes. “You don’t have to do that,” he croaked, wiping at his cheeks with the hand not currently held under Cook’s. He appreciated the kindness, but he didn’t want to infringe on this human’s hospitality more than he already had.  
  
Cook shrugged. “I know. But the offer still stands.”  
  
David wanted to refuse, on principle if nothing else, yet he knew that he had nowhere else to go, no idea of where to even start searching for his family. So he said nothing, and his smile, though small and tremulous when it came, was genuine nonetheless. “Thank you,” he breathed.  
  
Cook squeezed his hand. “No problem.”  
  


~*~

  
That night Cook sat in his bedroom, unable to sleep even as the clock on his bedside table ticked over to midnight.  
  
A half-empty glass of whiskey sat beside it, and he took a long drink of its contents before sighing gustily, tilting his head back as the slow burn worked its way down his throat.

  
_What in the fuck have I gotten myself into?_  
  
He had shown David to the guest room down the hall a few hours ago, and though the door remained open (he knew, because he’d checked every hour on the hour), Cook had yet to hear a sound from his mysterious new guest.  
  
He still didn’t know what he had been thinking, inviting the guy to stay. David had seemed genuine enough, and his story – though outlandish and impossible and yeah, completely crazy – had been a lot easier to believe after seeing what he could turn into.  
  
Even after seeing it firsthand, Cook was still having trouble believing that a, a  _unicorn_  had been standing in his living room. It was so beyond the realm of possibility that it didn’t even bear thinking about. Even when he shut his eyes, though, he could see it, the pure whiteness of its form and the gleam of that horn seared into his vision, and he knew without doubt that it had been real.  
  
Cook reached without looking and grabbed his glass, taking another, longer sip. The alcohol warmed his throat and belly, and set a hazy edge over his thoughts which he welcomed with open arms. He had no idea where to go from there.  
  
Then again, he thought, recalling the look on David’s face earlier, he doubted David had any idea either.  
  
That’s what had done it, Cook knew – David’s face. That’s what had cemented his resolve to let David stay. It had done something to him, seeing David’s face crumple like that, the tears spilling hotly down his cheeks. He’d looked absolutely heartbroken, and Cook’s spare attempt at comfort and that impulsive offer to let him stay had won Cook such a look of gratitude and wonder that he had been completely unable to regret his decision.  
  
He wasn’t regretting it now, not exactly. Cook was just – uncertain, for a start, about what to do from then on out, and still grappling with the idea that things like  _unicorns_  actually existed.  
  
Not only unicorns, his mind reminded him, but unicorn  _princes_. Cook had royalty under his roof.  
  
He didn’t know why he found that funny, only that after the events of that day, coupled with the late hour and the alcohol swimming through his blood it was just about the funniest thing he had ever thought.  
  
Maybe because David hadn’t really exhibited any… well, princely behavior. He’d definitely seemed fierce enough when he had been holding Cook at sword point, and there was no mistaking the regal, graceful stance of his other form.  
  
Yet he had looked like a normal enough person sitting there on Cook’s couch crying his eyes out, like anyone who had just lost their family and had no clue what to do with themselves next. And he’d said something about a friend, too, hadn’t he? That he’d left her fighting that thing, the Bull. Had she made it out, Cook wondered. Judging by David’s reaction, he kind of doubted it.  
  
Cook sobered up quickly. Jesus. No wonder the guy was a mess.  
  
He’d been quiet after he’d accepted Cook’s offer, and though their hands had still been clasped together, Cook hadn’t felt the need to move away. He’d figured David needed the contact, something to help him feel grounded.  
  
They hadn’t moved until the rumbling of both their stomachs had forced them to. There was nothing edible in his kitchen but a long cold omelet, but Cook hadn’t bothered to entertain any thoughts of leaving David alone to go grab something. It hadn’t sat well with him, and so Cook had fallen back on habits any self-respecting bachelor relied on for survival: he’d ordered a pizza.  
  
Did unicorns eat pizza, he had wondered. Did unicorns eat  _anything_? He had been about to ask David until he’d seen him attempting to stand up, tossing the blanket off of his lap and reminding Cook that oh yeah, nudity. That was still a thing, apparently.  
  
David had seemed pretty cavalier about his lack of clothing until Cook had pointed it out; he’d taken one look at himself and blushed furiously, jerking the blanket back over his lap with a flustered, “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry – I didn’t. I forget, sometimes? About – “ He’d waved a hand to encompass his current state, and Cook had laughed without meaning to (a little hoarsely, maybe, because that had been a lot of golden skin on display and Cook was only human).  
  
“I get that,” he’d said, a little red beneath his scruff despite himself, and gone to find something for David to wear.  
  
Dinner had been awkward, to say the least. Cook’s repeated attempts to start a conversation had fallen by the wayside in lieu of the melancholy that had once again seemed to fall over David like a cloud. Cook had ultimately had no idea what to say, too baffled still by the events that had led them to that point and frankly a little overwhelmed by everything that he’d witnessed. He’d floundered for something to say or do that would at least get David to get crack a smile, though, but even his most cringe-worthy jokes had fallen flat.  
  
The only time David had truly smiled was when Dublin had come out of hiding, tail wagging furiously as he’d pressed his paws to David’s leg, and it seemed like Cook had been abandoned in light of their new guest, as rather than taking his spot at the foot of the bed, Dublin had decided to follow David into the guest room instead.  
  
_So_ , he thought, crossing his legs as he leaned back against the headboard.  _To recap: Boy falls out of the sky. Boy turns into unicorn. Boy steals my dog_. It had been a full day for David Cook.  
  
At least he’d managed to learn a few things: that unicorns did in fact exist, that unicorn  _royalty_  was also, apparently, a thing, that they did in fact eat pizza, and that they were remarkably distracting, at least when one was sleeping just down the hall from him. That wasn’t really much to go on, in the long run.  
  
How did one learn more about unicorns, anyway?  
  
Cook reached for his laptop. It took him a few tries, the whiskey dulling his movements, but eventually he had a search bar pulled up, squinting as he typed in the word  _unicorn_.  
  
Google was as good a place to start as any, he supposed.

~*~

David stood bare-footed in the lush autumn grass, breathing in the crisp, cold air. If he closed his eyes and focused solely on the wind and the sound of birds singing nearby, he could almost pretend that he was home.  
  
But the clothes he’d managed to find in Cook’s closet were a far cry from his own wardrobe, and the faint sound of cars in the distance was proof enough that he was still on Earth.  
  
He felt shaken from the nightmares that had plagued him the night before; the Red Bull’s roar still echoed in his ears, the beast’s cloying scent clinging to his nose. He had woken just before dawn in a cold sweat, startling Cook’s dog into falling off the bed, and had been totally unable to get any rest afterward.  
  
He felt safe enough in Cook’s expansive backyard, with its fence and tall hedges, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that had shadowed his footsteps ever since he and Brooke had fled the castle – the feeling of being hunted.  
  
He knew the Red Bull would stop at nothing to find him, had seen it in the flare of the beast’s cavernous eyes as it chased them through the forest, had heard it in the creature’s furious roar as David fell over the cliff side.  
  
Why the Bull had attacked in the first place, David couldn’t even begin to guess. All of the stories he’d heard of the Red Bull were just that – stories. He had always thought the creature was a  _myth_ , one of the many fables and fairy tales that his mother used to tell him and Claudia when they were young.  
  
He wished his mother was there now. Maybe she would have a better idea about why it had attacked them so suddenly, and what it wanted.  
  
Would he ever see her again? Or his siblings? David curled his fingers around the amulet resting against his chest, biting his lip as he stared into its depths. There had been no change since he arrived; the gem lay dormant, dull, gleaming only when sunlight passed over it. His brother and sisters had not made it to Earth yet, or they had, and were yet still too far away to make a difference. There was no way to know for certain.  
  
_Run and know that your kingdom lies in ruins at your back. Know that your people lie dead at your heels_. The words echoed in his head as David stood there, staring unseeing at the leaf-strewn ground. They filled him with a desolate sense of hopelessness and fear, and he ached to run, as far and as fast as he could, to escape them.  
  
Instead he clenched his hands into fists, shaking his head to rid himself of any thought save his family. They were strong, all of them, and fierce enough that they wouldn’t go down without a fight. They would find their way to him, he was sure of that. He  _had_  to be sure of that.  
  
Something nudged his leg; David blinked his eyes open and glanced down, smiling a little as Cook’s dog barked up at him, its head tilted to the side as it regarded him curiously.  
  
“You’re Dublin, right?” He knelt and passed his hand over the dog’s head, scratching at its ears, and took the time to marvel that at least he didn’t have to be in this unfamiliar world alone, that luck or divine intervention or  _something_  had seen fit to guide him to someone who would take him in, give him shelter, and not run screaming from him the moment he’d revealed who – and what – he really was.  
  
He was  _safe_ , for the moment, and after everything that had happened to send him to Earth, that was something to be celebrated.  
  


~*~

  
The house was silent when Cook nudged the front door open, his arms laden down with bags. He dropped the groceries off in the kitchen and the rest of the bags in the guest room, spotting no sign of David either downstairs or up in his room. When he’d left that morning, David had already been awake, the dark rings under his eyes proof that he hadn’t slept much, and Cook had been hoping he’d come home to find David sacked out on the couch or something, catching up on the sleep he obviously hadn’t gotten the night before.  
  
Cook had spent the morning stocking up on food for his empty kitchen and clothes for David. He knew nothing of his would fit the boy’s leaner frame, and his blood pressure couldn’t handle seeing David walking around in nothing but a blanket for however long it took for him to find his family. He’d had no idea what would fit or what David would like, so he’d just grabbed a little of everything and hoped for the best.  
  
He dropped his sunglasses off in his room while he was upstairs; they’d been a necessity that morning after his little solo bender the night before, and he’d spent his entire trip into town wincing at every loud noise and at the overcrowded shops. He’d needed a few hours alone, though, his mind full of both everything that had happened yesterday and everything that he had read last night, so he’d dealt with the headache pounding at his temples until it had faded into a more manageable ache.  
  
He left his cap on and stowed his sneakers in the closet before heading back downstairs, wondering where David had gotten off to. It wasn’t until he was walking past the den that he noticed the sliding glass doors leading out to the backyard were slightly open, letting a cool, crisp wind into the house. Cook was about to shut them when he heard something – humming, coming from outside.  
  
David was sitting at the base of one of the trees that grew sparingly in Cook’s backyard. He was wearing one of Cook’s plaid shirts and a pair of jeans Cook vaguely recognized from the back of his closet, both a little big on his smaller frame, and his feet were bare. His head was tilted back against the bark, his eyes closed, and his lips were moving as he crooned the words to a song that Cook didn’t recognize. It was lilting and slow, in a language that Cook couldn’t identify, and for a long moment he just stood there listening to it, marveling at the way David’s entire face shone as he sang, his lips curled into a beatific smile, and at the clear, breathy quality of his voice, like nothing Cook had ever heard before.  
  
The closer he drew to the boy, the more Cook began to notice that David wasn’t actually alone. Dublin lay in the grass at his feet, his head resting on David’s ankle. Cook could see a handful of birds perched on the branches above David’s head, as well as something small and furry – a squirrel? – scurrying up the bark as Cook drew near. There was something else fluttering around David’s head, and after a moment of squinting his eyes, Cook caught a glimpse of opaque wings. Butterflies. Of course.  
  
He must have made a noise, some incredulous burst of sound (because his life had turned into a fucking Disney movie, seriously); David’s lashes parted to reveal his bright hazel eyes, his song trailing off as the full weight of his gaze settled on Cook.  
  
“You’re back,” he said, smiling around the words, and Cook felt a little flustered despite himself.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, coughing to dislodge whatever had settled in his throat to make his voice sound so hoarse. “I, uh, got food. And clothes. For you.”  
  
“Oh.” David ran his palms down the front of his borrowed shirt, the sight of his slender fingers catching on the buttons more than a little distracting. “You really didn’t have to go to the trouble – “  
  
“It’s okay. You might be here for a while, so… “ He trailed off, cursing his lack of foresight, because David’s face had started to fall again. Cook hurried to change the subject. “I heard you. Your voice, I mean. It’s very – it’s good.”  _Smooth_ , he thought, mentally rolling his eyes at himself.  
  
“Oh, I – “ David looked a little surprised, but not displeased, and his smile was soft as he said, “Thank you, Cook.”  
  
The guy had  _dimples_  for fuck’s sake. Jesus.  
  
“Looks like I’m not your only fan,” Cook said, bending to run his fingers over Dub’s ears in an attempt to ignore his reaction to that smile.  
  
David laughed lightly, an airy, almost musical sound, and Cook glanced up again just in time to see a butterfly alight on the boy’s spread fingers, its wings blue-black and striking. “They’re good listeners,” David was saying, his expression serene as the butterfly lazily flapped its wings. It was such a far cry from his hangdog expression that morning that for a moment Cook could only stare like an idiot at the boy. Once he noticed what he was doing, he forced himself to stop.  
  
“Is that a, uh, a unicorn thing, too?” Cook asked, settling in the grass by David’s side and feeling only marginally less stupid for actually having said the word aloud.  
  
David shook his head, dislodging another butterfly that had alighted on his shoulder. “Oh no, not all of us sing. It’s just… I’ve always loved music, ever since I was young. My mother – she used to sing to me every night to get me to sleep.”  
  
“Was that a lullaby, then? That you were singing earlier?”  
  
David nodded, smiling. “Yes. My younger siblings are all too old for it now, but I used to sing it to them all the time.” He glanced at Cook, his expression thoughtful. “Do you – ? I mean, I saw the guitars inside, so I thought… “  
  
Cook grinned. “Music’s how I make my living. I could show you, if you want – ?”  
  
David’s entire face seemed to light up, and his, “Oh, yes! I would love that,” was so genuinely enthusiastic that Cook felt kind of thrown by both.  
  
“Okay, uh.” He stumbled a little getting to his feet, though David didn’t seem to notice. “Just – wait right there.”  
  


~*~

  
When Cook came back out, David’s eyes were immediately drawn to the guitar cradled delicately in his hands. It was a gleaming white, with the letters AC printed on the body, and Cook handled it like something precious, tossing the strap over his head as he reclaimed his spot next to David in the grass, leaves crunching underneath him as he settled back against the tree.  
  
“Any requests?” he asked, smiling roguishly. David hadn’t really been paying much attention before, but the human’s smile was surprisingly contagious, and he found himself returning it without a second thought.  
  
“I’m not really familiar with your music,” he confessed, shrugging. “You can, um, surprise me?”  
  
“I can do that,” Cook said, curling his fingers around the strings. “How about… “ He strummed a few opening notes, the melody nothing that David had ever heard before. It was beautiful nonetheless, soft and soothing, and once he grew more familiar with the melody, David hummed lightly along.  
  
Cook smiled when he heard it, though David’s focus was more on the masterful way that the human’s fingers moved along the fret board, plucking out notes with an ease that belied his talent with the instrument. He had beautiful hands, David found himself thinking, big and strong-looking, and the various rings and bracelets decorating his fingers and wrists were terribly distracting, drawing David’s eye again and again.  
  
But then Cook started to sing along to the melody he was strumming, and David’s eyes snapped irresistibly to his face.  
  
“ _I feel alive beside you_ ,” Cook sang, voice soft and low, “ _and all at once I am whole again. We fall into each other, your atmosphere is all I’m breathing in_.”  
  
David licked his lips, his humming drawing to an abrupt stop. He couldn’t really concentrate on following along with the melody any longer, too entranced by Cook’s voice. He’d never heard anything like it.  
  
“ _Carry me down, rolling in your arms, ‘cause I can’t remember ever falling this hard_.” Cook’s eyes slipped closed as he continued, and David watched the way his lips formed around the words, his heart skipping a beat inside his chest. “ _Tell me tonight, all that we have been, was it nothing more than the noise inside my head? Crashing down, crashing down, in your avalanche_.”  
  
David sat in a daze as Cook crooned the second verse; once he came to the chorus again, his eyes drifted open, and David was caught in the pull of his gaze, helpless to do anything but hold the contact until Cook’s voice trailed off.  
  
It took a few tries, but eventually David was able to swallow past the lump in his throat and say, “That was… that was beautiful.”  
  
Cook looked a little bewildered himself, like whatever had been affecting David had gotten to him too. His voice was rough when he spoke, and his eyes couldn’t seem to hold contact with David’s any longer. “After what I heard from you, that’s – uh, thanks, man. Seriously.”  
  
After seeing Cook stare down the point of David’s sword, it was strange to see the human look so frazzled. It made David smile.  
  
“Will you sing something else?” he asked quietly, and Cook’s answering grin lit up his entire face.  
  


  
  
They spent hours in the backyard, Cook running through many songs that he had penned himself, plus a few which he said were “essential to your knowledge of Earth music, David, seriously.” In return, David sang a handful of songs he had grown up with and a few that he had composed on his own. After a while Cook stopped seeming so surprised by the animals that tended to creep closer as David sang, the gathering of butterflies and small, twittering birds that circled the tree under which they sat, and the occasional squirrel or chipmunk that grew brave enough to venture close to them.  
  
Cook always got this kind of awed look on his face whenever David finished one of his songs. David would open his eyes (he always closed them when he sang; it was a habit he’d had since youth that he’d never been able to break) and Cook would be looking at him, his mouth slack and his eyes a little wide, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.  
  
David knew he was a good singer; all unicorns are a little, well… vain, but he’d never been one to stare at his own reflection or marvel at the gleam of his coat or the shine of his eyes or anything like that. His voice, though… David had always been proud of his voice, always loved to sing and gather a crowd around him, hear the praises of others whenever he finished a song.  
  
He’d never had someone like Cook praise him, though, never had someone who could sing so beautifully, whose voice could reach high, soaring notes with ease and effortlessly transition into a low, rough growl that left David a little, um. Well. He’d never had someone like that look so awed by his voice, and it left him a little off-kilter, unsure how to handle himself in Cook’s presence.  
  
As the afternoon drifted into early evening, the sky awash with blue and purple as the sun slowly sank beyond the horizon, David found himself stretched out on his back in the grass, Cook in a similar position next to him. They were talking softly, Cook having prompted a conversation about David’s home – what it looked like, how different it was from Earth, and David had latched onto the subject with relish, even as a longing ache settled deep in his chest the more he talked about the sprawling castle grounds, the ocean stretching beyond the horizon, and the myriad of sights and sounds that made up his world.  
  
“The castle was built a long time ago, a century before my mother was born. It’s – everything’s open to nature, and you can barely see the walls for the ivy and the moss and all the flowers that grow everywhere. There’s a brook that runs right through the throne room, and it always smells like spring, no matter what season it is. My mother, she told me that a great wizard helped to construct it, that he was a friend of unicorns and one of the greatest magicians of the age. It’s because of him that we’re able to shift from one form to the other; at least, that’s what the old tales all say.”  
  
Cook made a small sound of wonder. “It sounds beautiful,” he said.  
  
David smiled. “It really is.” He hoped he would see it again, not with the walls crumbling under the Red Bull’s weight but restored once again to its former glory. He missed its wide, open corridors, the carpet of moss and fauna that grew along the floors and walls. He missed the sweet, fresh scent of flowers blooming in the morning sun, and the sound of his siblings chasing each other through the courtyard.  
  
They lapsed into silence, David content to let his thoughts wander, until Cook spoke up.  
  
“Did you know,” he said, “that there’s a unicorn constellation?”  
  
David glanced at him. “Really?” he asked, turning his gaze to the sky above, where the first few stars shone amidst the burgeoning black of night. “Where?”  
  
“It’s, uh. You can’t really see it now, but it’s close to Orion.” He pointed to a swatch of sky over their heads, where three stars glittered dimly in a row. “It’s made up of seven stars, and the shape is kind of – well, hold on.”  
  
David heard him shift, and then suddenly there was a hand wrapped around his own, a callused fingertip drifting over the flesh of his palm. David’s eyes snapped down from the sky to Cook, whose eyes were focused on the movement of his finger over David’s skin.  
  
“It’s kind of like this,” he was saying, drawing one long, slightly curved line and then branching off with three others, two long and one short. His skin was warm against David’s. “I think it’s supposed to be rearing or something? Anyway – “ He trailed off a little uncertainly, and David noticed in a sort of abstract way that he had been holding his breath; it caught in his throat as he sucked in air, and Cook’s eyes jerked from his palm to David’s face at the sound.  
  
“I, um – “ David breathed, struggling for words. “How – how’d you know about that?” They weren’t the words that were fluttering restlessly in his throat, but they were safer.  
  
Cook drew his hand away, rubbing briefly at the back of his neck. He actually looked a little embarrassed. “I looked it up,” he said.  
  
“Oh?” That was… interesting. “Why?”  
  
Now Cook definitely looked embarrassed. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said, a little defensively. “I didn’t exactly have a wealth of knowledge about unicorns, you know.”  
  
It was kind of funny, the way Cook’s mouth twitched whenever he said that word, like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or frown afterward.  
  
“There’s information about us?” David asked, curious. “Like what?” David knew his kind weren’t unknown in the human world; long ago, generations before his mother and even his grandmother were born, unicorns had once called Earth their home. There had never been a time without unicorns, though they had always kept themselves hidden from humans, always a little wary of them. Unicorns were nothing but the subject of myth and legend on Earth now, though, like dragons and witches and every other manner of magical creature. Information compiled on his kind by humans was bound to be, um, interesting.  
  
Cook glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, leaning back on his hands. “Well… there’s all this stuff from different cultures, different names you go by, or the way you look. The ‘horse with a horn’ description seems to be the general consensus, but, uh.” He trailed off, coughing. “I’ve never seen a horse that looks like you do. Never really seen  _anything_  that looks like you, actually.”  
  
David felt his cheeks warm even as he inwardly preened; though he’d never really felt as beautiful or resplendent as his kin, he could tell that the brief glance Cook had gotten at his other form had left an impression on the man.  
  
“Was there, um, anything else?”  
  
Cook shrugged his shoulders. “There’s the whole maiden thing.”  
  
David blinked. “Maiden thing?”  
  
“Yeah, like how you’re drawn to these pure, virginal young girls, how you’ll sleep with your heads in their laps and let them ride you and all that flowery, romantic shit.” A mischievous grin curled his lips as he tilted his head toward David. “Sorry I’m not any of those things, by the way. You’re probably disappointed you crash landed in front of me and not some pretty young thing, huh?”  
  
David’s mouth decided at that moment to run ahead of him without any input from his brain, which tended, unfortunately, to happen a lot. “You are, though,” he said, and then immediately felt horrified when Cook shot an incredulous look his way.  
  
“What, pretty?” he asked, laughing a little, and David hurriedly shook his head.  
  
“No!” he said, a little too loud, even though inwardly he actually thought Cook was quite – well. “I mean, not exactly?” He flailed his hands a little and started over. “I just meant – pure! You’re – that’s what you are.”  
  
Cook’s eyebrows nearly crept into his hairline. “Uh, I hate to break it to you, David, but I’m not a vir – “  
  
David made a sound that vaguely resembled a squawk. “That’s not what I meant!” he insisted, his face warming considerably. “That whole – the um, the virgin thing is kind of stupid? Like, it doesn’t really matter if you’re one or not, the purity we’re attracted to is more… of the heart? It’s kind of hard to explain, I guess.”  
  
Cook grinned cheekily at him. “Are you trying to say I have a pure heart, David?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows in a way that looked utterly ridiculous and was probably meant to coax a laugh out of David.  
  
David didn’t rise to the bait though. He just answered honestly, “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”  
  
Cook studied him for a long moment, David holding his gaze until the man turned away, a curious smile on his lips. “If you say so, David,” he said, “then it must be true.”  
  


~*~

  
They spent another hour outside before the cold finally sent them back in. Cook threw together a quick dinner for them both, pasta and salad that wasn’t too out of the realm of his culinary expertise, and when they settled at the kitchen table, the atmosphere was less tense than it had been the night before, conversation flowing easier between them and David’s smile much more frequent.  
  
Cook was still kind of reeling over their entire conversation outside, the way the air had been strangely charged while he traced that constellation into David’s palm (and where the fuck had that urge come from, he wondered), and especially after they’d discussed the whole ‘purity’ thing.  
  
Cook didn’t know why, but David telling him he was pure (pure of heart, even) felt like a pretty significant compliment. It also made him feel like one of those young, virginal maidens he’d read so much about last night, so he pushed it firmly to the back of his mind.  
  
“Could you tell me something?” he asked David once they’d polished off most of the food and had lapsed into a comfortable silence. At David’s silent urging, he continued, “What exactly is the Red Bull?”  
  
He almost regretted bringing it up after seeing David’s face fall, but if something was really after David, after his family, then Cook would like to know more about it.  
  
“It’s… “ David’s fork made nonsensical designs on his plate as he gathered his words. Cook didn’t try to interrupt, knowing David would answer in his own time. “I grew up hearing stories about the Red Bull. It’s regarded as a type of… of deity, almost. All the old tales talk about how powerful it is, how fierce. Its body is wreathed in flames, and its horns are white, like – like scars. It destroys everything in its path.” Cook noticed David’s hand was shaking a little around his fork, but he didn’t draw attention to it. He could tell David was remembering his own confrontation with the Bull, and judging by the wound Cook had dressed yesterday, the meeting had been an unpleasant one. “It’s a wild god, a nature god – of fire and destruction and rebirth. My mother used to tell me that when the time came the Bull would awaken and raze the earth clean, and new life would spring from the soil.”  
  
Cook tapped his nail against the lip of his beer bottle. “Was there anything in these stories that mentioned the Bull attacking unicorns?”  
  
David shook his head, slumping back into his seat. “No, there’s nothing. That’s what I can’t figure out. It attacked us so suddenly, and there was no time to do anything but run. My mother – my mother would know more, but until she arrives or I go back home, there’s just – “  
  
“There’s nothing you can do,” Cook finished, lips twisting at the miserable expression on David’s face. Shit. “David, you can’t beat yourself up about this. From what you’ve told me it sounds like you did exactly like your mom wanted.”  
  
“I know, but how could I leave her there? I’m the Prince, I’m supposed to protect her, protect my people – !”  
  
“David, look at that gash in your side.” Cook gestured with his bottle toward the younger man’s side, the gauze covering his wound creating a bump in his borrowed shirt. “You can’t take that thing on alone. And before you argue with me about it, you’ve got to know that just because you couldn’t beat it, that doesn’t mean you failed. Your family’s gonna find you, and then you’ll work out how to deal with the Bull together.”  
  
David didn’t say anything for a long while; Cook could see that his eyes were wet, knew that the hands he’d hidden beneath the table were probably tightly clenched.  
  
“Do you… do you honestly believe that?” he asked eventually, his voice soft.  
  
Cook nodded. “I do.”  
  
David smiled; it was a little wobbly, but it was there. “Thank you, Cook,” he said.  
  
“Just telling you the truth,” Cook said, a little flustered despite himself (which seemed to be happening a lot in David’s presence; Cook chocked it up to being yet another weird unicorn thing and put it from his mind). “So,” he continued, hoping a little humor would cheer David up, “a unicorn hiding out from an evil magical bull crash lands in front of a poor, unsuspecting, highly talented musician. The unicorn just happens to be a Prince. Well, that confirms it – my life has turned into a Disney flick.”  
  
David blinked at him, confused. “What’s Disney?”  
  
Cook laughed, long and loud, and he laughed even harder at the utterly confused look on David’s face. “That’s right,” he said, once his laughter had tapered off, “I forgot that probably wasn’t a thing in your world. Follow me.”  
  
They stowed their plates in the sink to be dealt with later, and Cook led David to the huge den just down the hall where he kept his flatscreen and BluRays. While David chose a seat on the couch, Cook dug into his DVD collection for the Disney films he kept on hand for whenever his niece and nephew came over for a visit, pulling out a handful and spreading them out on the floor.  
  
“Pick your poison,” he said cheerily, ignoring the fact that he was willfully subjecting himself to a cartoon for the next hour and a half. Anything was preferable to seeing that lost, hopeless look on David’s expressive face.  
  
“Um… “ David looked a little confused as he glanced over the titles, but eventually he picked one out of the lineup –  _Brave_.  
  
“Good choice,” Cook said, even though he had no idea what the film was about. Usually he filtered out the noise whenever Gracie and Gage had control over the entertainment. He popped the disc into the player and plopped down onto the couch beside David, whose eyes were already glued to the screen as the DVD menu came up.  
  
_No television in unicorn land, huh?_  Cook thought, grinning, and pressed play.  
  


~*~

  
Days passed.  
  
David lost count of the amount of movies they went through; a plethora of other Disney films ( _Finding Nemo_  quickly became his favorite, though he was enraptured by them all) along with movies which Cook seemed to enjoy more. These were usually filled with car chases and action scenes that seemed more fantastical than realistic, though David never thought it wise to voice that particular opinion.  
  
Slowly but surely, he began to grow stronger. Cook redressed his wound each night and marveled at the speed with which it healed, until David dutifully explained that unicorns naturally healed very quickly.  
  
“Our blood doesn’t have healing properties or anything,” he’d hastily added, because that film about the wizard boy was still fresh in his mind. “Our magic – it lives in our horns, heals us when we call to it.”  
  
Usually no wound would leave a mark, but the same couldn’t be said for the injury the Bull had dealt him. Wounds inflicted by a magical creature always left a scar.  
  
Nightmares continued to plague him; on more than one occasion Cook had stumbled downstairs in the middle of the night to find him sitting on the couch in the den, staring blankly at the dark television screen as Dublin snoozed beside him.  
  
“’Nother nightmare?” Cook would ask, and at David’s silent nod, the older man would merely slump down onto the sofa beside him, staying up with him until he felt settled enough to go back to bed. David appreciated the gesture more than words could say; he knew, even though Cook had never said anything to confirm it, that the human had taken to checking on him during the night. It reminded David a little of his mother and how she would sometimes watch him sleep. She’d done the same thing to his siblings when they were young, and even now, when they were all old enough to chafe a little under such an act of motherly concern, he knew she still took it upon herself to check in on them each night. She said it gave her peace of mind, knowing that her children were safe and sound.  
  
Did it give Cook peace of mind, David wondered, to know that he was safe? The thought sent a warm trill down his spine.  
  


  
  
On the morning a week after his arrival on Earth, David woke to find Cook walking past his bedroom door with running shoes in hand.  
  
“I usually go every morning,” Cook said, once David asked. “Kind of got distracted,” he added, winking (and causing David to flush, dang it), “but I figured I should get back to it.”  
  
“Can I go?” David had always loved running, and after a week he was beginning to go a little stir crazy in Cook’s house.  
  
Cook seemed to understand. “Sure, let’s go.”  
  
They ended up at a park nearby (“It’s where I found you, actually,” Cook had said once they’d pulled into the parking lot), early enough that not many other joggers were out, and as soon as David’s borrowed sneakers touched the leaf-strewn path, he could feel the urge inside of himself to leap forward, to run, to  _race_.  
  
He tried to keep pace with Cook, he really did! The human wasn’t necessarily  _slow_  or anything, but, um, well. David was used to running with others like him, that was all, and the speed of a human was nothing compared to that of a unicorn, as fleet-footed as they were.  
  
The wind felt spectacular against his face, and he gave himself over to the pure joy that running always brought him. His feet barely touched the ground, the wind buffeting his clothes and hair, and he longed suddenly to be able to run in his true form, to stretch his legs and feel the ground moving beneath his hooves, to see the broadening sunlight gleam off the point of his horn.  
  
He slowed to a stop once he crested a tall hill, and he was smiling brightly when Cook found him a few moments later, the human’s hair wet with sweat and his chest heaving as he took in deep breaths of the cool morning air.  
  
“Holy… “ Cook gasped, his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath, “shit. How the hell do you run that fast?”  
  
David giggled. He hadn’t even worked up a sweat. “It’s, uh, a unicorn thing?” he offered, and laughed outright at the disgruntled look on Cook’s face.  
  


  
  
It hadn’t escaped David’s notice that he was smiling more often as the days passed, or that he had begun to feel truly happy on Earth, despite the circumstances that had led him there. All the sights and sounds and people, strange and unfamiliar as they were to him, were fascinating.  _Cook_  was fascinating, and David had spent hours asking him about his life on Earth, his family, his music.  
  
Cook showed him recordings of his stage performances, and David was completely entranced as he watched them all. Cook almost seemed like another person up on stage. David was used to seeing him in the early morning, his hair sleep-mussed and sticking out in all directions, used to seeing him grumble and mumble half-coherent sentences until he’d had at least two cups of coffee, used to seeing him laugh at his own (horrible) jokes and yell at the television screen whenever they watched a movie (even if he already knew how it was going to end.)  
  
On stage Cook seemed to be in his element. He was charismatic and charming and flirtatious, shooting smoldering looks at the crowd and making them all scream his name. It made something jump in David’s chest, something warm and shivery, to see the way Cook moved across a stage, to see the way his fingers curled over his guitar or the way he’d smirk while he was crooning his, um, racier lyrics.  
  
David felt strangely aware of Cook in a way he hadn’t expected, in a way he’d never really felt with anyone else. He’d felt stirrings of the same admiration before, of course, and even attraction, but he’d never really felt the desire to act on those feelings.  
  
That changed around Cook. Whenever the older man smiled crookedly at him, or laughed at one of his own ridiculous jokes, or brushed his hand along David’s arm… David wanted to act.  
  
It was ridiculous, he knew. He wouldn’t be on Earth for much longer, and it wasn’t like Cook could follow him home. He doubted the human felt anything more for him than friendship anyway; David was a guest – an unexpected one at that, and it was stupid to even entertain any thoughts that their relationship might be anything more, so.  
  
Still, that didn’t stop him from, um, appreciating Cook every now and then, letting his eyes linger on the man’s bright eyes or the curve of his smile or the broad span of his shoulders whenever Cook wasn’t paying attention.  
  
His attraction to the human was a harmless one; it would fade in time, he knew. He hoped.  
  


~*~

  
“So.” Cook crossed his arms over the back of the couch, glancing down at the top of David’s dark head. The younger man was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around them while he watched one of the  _Harry Potter_  movies. (Not the first one, of course, since that scene with the unicorn had freaked him out). “I think we should go out tonight.”  
  
David tilted his head back, brows raised as he looked at Cook. “Go out?” he asked, as if the very concept was foreign to him. Granted, they’d barely been out of the house for anything but their morning runs and a rather memorable trip to the cinema (David had stared wide-eyed at the massive movie screen for the duration of the show, and though the film playing wouldn’t have been Cook’s first choice – some Disney/Pixar flick that had just come out – he’d enjoyed himself regardless, if only for the way it brought out more of David’s bright smiles and breathy laughter.)  
  
“You know, get out of the house, interact with the masses?“ He dropped a slightly crumpled piece of paper in David’s lap, the front embossed with the silhouette of a crowd in front of a stage and  _Fall Music Festival_  emblazoned across the top. The flyer had been pinned to the bulletin board at the park; he’d caught sight of it a few mornings past before he and David had set out on their run and had glanced over it while David set off on his own (Cook had given up on trying to keep up with the younger man after that first morning when David had left him, quite literally, in the dust).  
  
“It’s a music festival they’re throwing in the park. They’ll have a stage set up and some local bands are going to be there. We can go, if you want.” He figured it’d be a good thing; David had seemed happier lately, but Cook had noticed that he’d taken to staring at the pendant around his neck more and more often.  
  
“I can go home,” he’d told Cook the other night, staring blankly at the dully gleaming gem resting against his chest after Cook had found him once again in the den, clearly unable to sleep. “My strength is back, my wound has healed. It’s safe for me to travel between worlds again.”  
  
Cook hadn’t known how to respond to that. His first instinct had been to convince David not to go; he’d had to clamp his lips shut to keep the word  _stay_  from leaving his mouth, and he hadn’t bothered to think too hard about why. There were a myriad of reasons why David going back home was a bad idea – his family could still be looking for him, he couldn’t face the Red Bull alone, and there was no telling what was waiting for him once he returned.  
  
None of those reasons had been the first to pop into Cook’s head when David had said  _I can go home_ , though, and frankly, that kind of scared the shit out of him.  
  
David was a  _unicorn_. For fuck’s sake, Cook still could barely  _think_  the word without feeling ridiculous, let alone say it, but it was true. Even without the aid of his other form, which Cook had only seen the one time and still kind of thought was some sort of weird fever dream, David was – was  _different_.  
  
It was apparent in everything about him – the way he moved, the way he looked, even the way he smelled. Cook had noticed it that afternoon they’d spent singing in the backyard. There was a fresh, almost flowery scent about him, like grass and warm sunlight and rain.  
  
And the things he could  _do_ … Cook had seen him croon a few notes of music to one of the houseplants his mother had given him that his brother had subsequently killed (Cook counted himself lucky that he’d left Dubs with Beth and not Andrew while he was on tour, all things considered), and in moments the thing had seemingly come back to live, its leaves perking and brightening back up beneath David’s gentle hands.  
  
Then there was the fact that small animals seemed to gravitate toward him. It wasn’t unusual for Cook to find him surrounded by birds and butterflies and the occasional rabbit whenever they went to the park, and Cook had forced himself to stop being surprised every time he’d glance outside into the backyard and see a herd of chipmunks or a cloud of butterflies meandering around like they were just waiting for David to come out.  
  
Cook couldn’t really say he blamed them. David was  _intriguing_ , there was no doubt about that, not just because of his fantastical origins but because he seemed so humble and down to earth in spite of them. David could do amazing things, and, if the stories he had told Cook of his home were anything to go by, he had seen some pretty amazing things, too, creatures that Cook had only ever seen on screen or read about in books and feats of magic that seemed too fantastic to ever be real, and yet David was just a normal guy. Well, Cook conceded, as normal as a unicorn prince  _could_  be.  
  
He was gentle and sweet and kind, funny even when he wasn’t trying to be, and he was infinitely curious about everything, from the myriad of appliances in Cook’s kitchen to the instruments cluttering his music room to all of the bits and bobs and buttons in Cook’s recording studio. It was fascinating to watch him run his long, slender fingers over one of Cook’s guitars, or to press them to the keys of Cook’s baby grand. He was so enamored of everything unfamiliar to him, and if he could coax music from it, even if the notes were sharp or sour or he couldn’t quite figure out what he was doing, he would still smile as if he’d mastered the instrument. It was… endearing.  
  
He was weirdly modest, too, considering what he was. Even Cook’s brief glimpse of David’s other form had been enough for the him to know that that creature (Cook still couldn’t correlate the two in his mind, David and that slim-legged, shining beast) was  _beautiful_ , the kind of beauty that brought tears to the eyes and made you want to turn away because it was so damn overwhelming to stare at it for too long. Yet David seemed strangely unaware of that fact; he talked about the beauty of his kin in a way that made Cook think David didn’t believe the same kind of beauty was present in himself.  
  
David was a conundrum, that much was certain, and he was also – strangely enough – someone whom Cook liked having around, someone he could see himself being friends with. They  _were_  friends, Cook felt – the way they got on, the way they made each other laugh, the fun they had together all seemed to point to that fact – and, as they learned more about each other, Cook found himself wishing that he had met David earlier, that their circumstances weren’t so mind-numbingly bizarre. David was the type of person that Cook loved having in his life.  
  
If at times Cook found himself studying David in a way that wasn’t strictly platonic, well. He was only human, and David’s huge hazel eyes and bright smile was distracting in a way that Cook couldn’t help but take notice of. The spark of attraction he felt would pass eventually, Cook knew. At least, he hoped.  
  


  
  
As soon as they arrived at the festival, Cook knew that his idea had been a brilliant one.  
  
David’s eyes were alight as he took in the crowd around them, the lights strung up between the trees and the food stands all along the property, and the huge stage set up in front. The park had been transformed for the occasion, and David looked completely entranced by all of the food and people and the strains of music drifting over from the speakers set up all over the grounds.  
  
He was wearing a striped sweater and dark jeans, a scarf wrapped around his neck, and the lantern lights cast a warm orange glow to his dark hair and olive skin, drawing Cook’s eye again and again despite his fervent attempts to ignore the sight.  
  
He focused instead on the crowd, taking in the couples and families and groups of friends scattered around, talking and laughing and enjoying the festive atmosphere. Cook wasn’t overly concerned with being recognized; with his cap on he blended pretty seamlessly into the crowd, and everyone was paying far more attention to the bands on stage than random guys in the crowd who might actually be famous rockstars.  
  
He grabbed David’s hand after a rowdy group of teens nearly bowled them both over, only realizing after a few minutes had gone by that he hadn’t bothered to drop it afterward.  
  
“Sorry,” he coughed, letting go, only to blink in surprise when David immediately reclaimed his hand.  
  
The younger man smiled hesitantly. “Um, we can – Just, the crowd’s kind of huge, so. I don’t want to get lost?”  
  
Cook nodded dumbly. “Uh, sure,” he said, wrapping his hand once more around David’s, letting the younger man lead him toward one of the booths set up along the perimeter.  
  
Even as they both snacked on veggie kabobs and made their way slowly toward the stage, David’s hand remained clasped in his own, his palm a spot of warmth in the chilly night air. Cook tried not to read too much into it, but David wasn’t exactly helping. Every few minutes his fingers would shift around Cook’s, brushing over his knuckles or squeezing gently, and every time it happened Cook nearly jumped out of his fucking skin, clenching his teeth to stifle the urge to do – well, something he probably shouldn’t do in a public place.  
  
They dropped their kabob sticks into a trash can by the side of the stage and grabbed a spot toward the front just as a dark-haired woman took to the mic, a guitar cradled in her hands. Cook found himself studying David’s face instead of the show, watching the way his eyes lit up while the woman sang, something upbeat and folksy as she strummed along on her guitar. He could hear David humming softly along to the music, and he felt the younger man’s fingertips tapping the rhythm against his skin. Goosebumps shivered up Cook’s arm at the contact, innocent as it was, and he turned his gaze blindly toward the stage to try and get a hold of himself.  
  
His efforts proved to be in vain toward the end of the woman’s act. The crowd had thickened up, and David moved closer until his side was touching Cook’s, their hands still clasped between them. He merely smiled when Cook shot him a curious glance and turned back to the stage, leaving Cook to stare a little bewildered at his profile.  
  
Did David know what he was doing? Cook honestly couldn’t be sure; he had caught the younger man staring at him once or twice before, sure, but there was a difference between healthy curiosity toward your human host and wanting to climb him like a tree.  
  
The way David’s fingers kept shifting against his, though, nearly caressing as they drifted over his knuckles, made Cook think that maybe he wasn’t too far off the mark. Maybe David knew exactly what he was doing.  
  
Cook wondered idly what it would be like, being courted by a unicorn, and then he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Jesus, his life was so weird.  
  
He shifted his focus to the stage as the woman came to the end of her set; she grinned as the crowd erupted in cheers, bowing gratefully before going on to welcome the next band, a group of men toting guitars led by a shorter man wearing plaid who greeted the crowd with a Southern accent.  
  
Cook was, surprisingly enough, able to keep his eyes on the stage rather than on David for the duration of the first two songs; the singer had a good voice, soulful and clear, and Cook reminded himself to look the guy up once he got a chance. It wasn’t until the band’s third song that Cook finally glanced over at David, noticing the boy’s soft smile first before his eyes were drawn to the hollow of David’s throat, where a strange blue light was steadily building in brightness, setting the olive skin aglow. Beneath David’s sweater the amulet was glowing, brightly enough that Cook could see the light even through the fabric.  
  
Cook tugged at David’s hand. “Uh, David? Your – your necklace – “  
  
David glanced down; his fingers grew tight around Cook’s, his eyes wide as he fished the amulet out with his free hand. The gem’s glow illuminated his face, and for a heartbeat they were both entranced by the thing, immobile in a sea of cheering, screaming fans.  
  
Cook could see David’s lips moving, but the noise of the crowd swallowed whatever words he might have been saying.  
  
“David, what – ?” he started, only to be cut short by David dropping his hand and disappearing into the crowd.  
  
Cook stared open-mouthed at the break in the crowd through which David had vanished, only moving when his brain finally seemed to take note that David was fucking  _gone_. He took off after him, shouting his name until he realized that David wouldn’t be able to hear him.  
  
He nearly barreled through a family of four, shouting a rushed apology over his shoulder as he weaved in and out of people, looking around for any sign of the younger man.  
  
The only reason he was even able to find him was because he’d stopped. Cook slowed to a halt, breathing hard as he stared at David’s back. David’s arms were wrapped around another person, a girl with long, dark hair the same shade as his own, and when they moved, David pulling back for a brief moment to say something inaudible and then pulling her close again, Cook finally understood what all the fuss was about.  
  
She was wearing a necklace just like David’s, and the gem dangling at the end was glowing a fierce, shining blue.

~*~

“You’re here, you’re here.” David kept repeating the same thing over and over, his arms snug around his sister’s shoulders as he breathed in her familiar scent, tears filling his eyes as she laughed against him, bright and happy and reminding him so much of growing up alongside her, the two of them exploring the castle and the surrounding grounds together, racing along the beach as their hooves kicked up sand behind them.  
  
“How did you find me?” he asked breathlessly, pulling back.  
  
Claudia smiled, her own eyes wet. “I followed the music,” she said. “And I hoped… Oh, I’m so happy you’re  _safe_.” Her arms tightened around his waist, and he was startled to hear her muffle a sob against his throat.  
  
“What’s wrong?” he asked, feeling his breath catch as he searched his big sister’s tear-stained eyes. “Claudia, what’s happened?”  
  
Claudia shook her head, her voice nearly lost in the noise of the crowd. “David, it’s – Mother and Daniel and the girls… “  
  
David’s heart sank, fear roiling in his gut. “What about them? Are they – did the Bull… ?”  
  
“They’re alive,” Claudia said, and David’s breath rattled as it left his mouth. “But they – oh, David, the Bull has them all.”  
  
“What?” His hands curled into fists against her shoulders, his heart hammering as he looked into her eyes, fearful and sad and desperate. “Claudia, what do you mean… ?”  
  
“Uh, David?”  
  
David jerked his head around, having nearly forgotten that he had left Cook back at the stage. The older man was standing a few feet away, glancing between David and his sister, clearly confused. “What’s going on?” he asked, glancing at their amulets. “Is it the Bull… ?”  
  
“David, who is this?” Claudia was moving to step between the two of them, her frame protective. David would have laughed if his mind hadn’t been reeling at the things she’d told him. “How does he know about the Bull?”  
  
“He’s Cook,” he said quickly. “He’s been helping me… Claudia, tell me what you meant. What’s happened to Mother and the others?”  
  
Claudia stared at him helplessly, her mouth opening and closing for a moment before Cook spoke up.  
  
“This probably isn’t the place to talk about… all this.” He waved his hand between the two of them. “My place is close by, if you wanted – “  
  
“Y-yeah, yes.” David nodded, taking his sister’s hand. It’d be better if they were alone. “Can we… ?”  
  
Cook stepped forward, laid a comforting hand on David’s shoulder. “Yeah, let’s go,” he said, and they ducked into the surrounding darkness together.  
  


  
  
“I arrived a few days ago,” Claudia said, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate. They were all sitting in the living room, he and his sister on the couch and Cook in the armchair beside it. “I didn’t know where to go, or what to do. I knew I would stand out in my armor, though, so I left it hidden and started searching for you.”  
  
“What happened to Adam?” David asked, fearing the answer. Claudia’s vassal had been with her when they’d fled. Had the Bull… ?  
  
Claudia’s eyes lowered. “I don’t know. When we fled I couldn’t… I couldn’t bring myself to leave, not yet. I knew that Mother wouldn’t escape until everyone else was safe, and the Bull… I was afraid of what it might do to her. Adam and I kept watch on the castle as often as we could for a few days; the Bull would come and go, and – David, it was driving our people, chasing them…” She shuddered, fingers tightening around her mug.  
  
David swallowed roughly. “Chasing them where?”  
  
“Into the sea,” Claudia whispered, her eyes wide and haunted. “David, I saw… I saw Daniel and the girls. They were crying, Daniel was trying to protect them, and they transformed, tried to run away, but – The Bull was so fast, David, and they couldn’t stand against it.” Tears brimmed in her dark eyes, and David reached across to wrap his hand around hers, his own eyes gleaming.  
  
“They looked so small,” she whimpered, her cheeks wet with tears. “It drove them into the waves and I couldn’t – I couldn’t see them anymore. I never saw Mother, but the Bull has her too, David, I know it.”  
  
He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to think. His little brother and sisters… What had become of them after they’d been driven into the water?  
  
“I had to find you. Adam told me to go, that he would keep an eye on the castle, try to find others who had fled from the Bull’s attack. David, I don’t know what we can do, how we can face it. And Mother… “  
  
David squeezed her hand, blinking rapidly so that his tears wouldn’t fall. He needed to be strong for his sister, like she had always been for him. “We’ll figure something out, Claudia. We’ll save Daniel and the girls. We’ll save Mother. We will.”  
  
Claudia glanced up at him, her eyes glittering. “You think so?”  
  
David nodded, even as fear and sorrow battled fiercely within his chest at the thought of his family and his people being herded like cattle into some uncertain fate. “I do.”  
  
Claudia sniffled quietly, taking a long sip of her cocoa, and nodded.  
  
“Cook?” He hated to ask anything more of the older man, especially after all that he had done for David already. “Would you mind if Claudia… ?”  
  
Cook smiled gently. “She can stay. It’s not like I don’t have more than one guestroom.”  
  
David’s, “Thank you, Cook,” was soft and heartfelt. They shared a long look laced with warmth and gratitude and something else, the same feeling that had given him the courage to take Cook’s hand at the festival. It felt a little like possibility.  
  


~*~

  
Claudia seemed to settle in easily enough, but Cook could tell she didn’t know quite what to think of him. Her gratitude toward his hospitality was sincere, but Cook caught her sending him half-suspicious, half-questioning looks whenever she thought David wasn’t looking. It didn’t bother him, exactly – if he was in her position he’d be feeling pretty protective of his little brother, too, but there was something else about the way she looked at him that put his brain on high alert.  
  
They’d retrieved her armor from where she’d stowed it, hidden under broken wood and scattered debris in an abandoned building close to the city. It lay in a heap – a well-organized heap – in her bedroom; one night shortly after she arrived, Cook caught her and David both in the den, their armor spread out around them while they polished each piece to a gleaming shine. David had mended the tear in his chest plate where the Bull had struck him, and now the expanse of silver was clean and unblemished. The sight had troubled Cook; he knew they were biding their time until they had a plan and could return home to face the Red Bull.  
  
Cook knew they were both warriors, knew that they could take care of themselves, but he kept picturing the gash that had nearly covered David’s entire torso, the edges torn and bleeding, and his body would flush hot and cold all at once, wondering how David would fare if he tried to take the Bull on again.  
  
It was enough to keep him up at night, and more than once he nearly beat David to the den, nightmares of his own plaguing his mind – nightmares that all seemed to involve David and a monstrous shadow wreathed in flames, swallowing him up until the bright glint of his eyes and the soft curve of his smile disappeared.  
  
One night not even the relative silence and comfort of the den was enough to drive the dreams from his head. Cook sequestered himself in his music room, settling at the piano with a pen tucked between his lips and an open notebook at his side. The music wouldn’t wake Claudia or David, and Cook needed something to drown out his dreams. He knew music, if nothing else, would do the trick.  
  
Music had always calmed him, always allowed him to sift through emotions that he might otherwise not be able to handle on his own; it was a release, a source of catharsis for whatever might be bothering him, and now was no different. He spent an hour or two working on a new arrangement for a song that might be included on the next album, and then shifted into other songs, wiling away the hours until time flowed seamlessly past.  
  
When David poked his head around the doorway, Cook almost didn’t notice him, so caught up in the movement of his fingers over the keys. David’s soft, breathy voice calling his name broke him from his reverie, however, and he glanced up at the boy. David’s face looked pale and tired; no doubt his nightmares had struck again. Cook waved him inside.  
  
“You’re not too busy… ?” David asked, gesturing to the notebooks and the various crumpled balls of paper scattered about.  
  
Cook shook his head, clearing the bench so David could take a seat. “Just goofing around, mostly,” he said, and then, because David inspired a weird streak of honesty in him, “Music helps me not think, you know?”  
  
David nodded, his eyes downcast for a moment. “Does it work?” he asked softly, glancing at Cook.  
  
“Why don’t you give it a try?” Cook said, waving his hands over the keys.  
  
“Oh, no. I’m no good yet, I really shouldn’t – “  
  
Cook nudged David’s shoulder, stopping the flow of his words. “Enough with that. C’mon, we’ll do it together.”  
  
He started in with a slow melody; when David made no move to join him, he rolled his eyes and grabbed the boy’s hand, moving his fingers until they were hovering over the keys.  
  
“Like this,” he said, and began playing again, David’s fingers warm and soft to the touch beneath his own.  
  
He started singing softly, one of the songs he had played for David already. It took a moment, but soon he could hear David’s breathy voice raising in song, joining Cook’s.  
  
“ _Come up to meet you, tell you I’m sorry. You don’t know how lovely you are_.” Cook nudged David’s shoulder again, winking, and yeah, he was being blatantly flirtatious, but shit, there was no time like the present, right? After their little hand hold at the festival, the urge to see where they stood had itched beneath his skin, waiting for the right moment to set things in motion. Maybe now was the right time, with David crooning the words alongside Cook, their voices blending in a way that Cook honestly hadn’t expected they could. “ _I had to find you, tell you I need you, tell you I set you apart_.”  
  
They ran through the song, voices soft in the night and shoulders touching. David didn’t pull away, not once.  
  


~*~

  
David awoke in the middle of the night, his hand grasping his amulet. The house was silent, the night still, but he knew – he knew something was coming. Something had happened.  
  
“David?” Claudia stood in the doorway, her eyes wide and alert, her hand wrapped around her own amulet.  
  
“You feel it too,” he said. It wasn’t a question.  
  
Claudia nodded. “It’s here,” she said, and David could see her trembling. “It’s come for us.”  
  
David knew it to be true, could feel it in his bones and in each breath he took. That cold, cloying smell he remembered from the day he’d fled the castle filled his mouth, slithered down his throat and turned his blood to ice.  
  
“Your armor,” he said, getting out of bed. “Claudia… “  
  
His sister shot him a tremulous smile. “We’ll be fine, David. Get ready.” She disappeared from the doorway, and with a heavy heart David reached for his armor.  
  
The breastplate, the vambraces, his gloves – these he slipped into with an ease born of familiarity, each movement swift and sure. He pulled on his boots last of all and strapped his sword to his waist, breathing out slowly as he wrapped his hand around the hilt.  
  
Before he left he stood in Cook’s bedroom doorway, hesitating on the threshold before moving into the room. He didn’t have to worry about waking the man; his armor made no sound, his footsteps light and soundless across the floor.  
  
Still, he held his breath as he halted beside Cook’s bed, staring down at the human as he slept. He was sprawled on his back, the covers kicked half-off and tangled around one of his legs. His chest was bare, and David spent time he didn’t have staring at the bleeding heart inked there. He pressed his gloved fingers to the colorful tattoo, a bare brush that didn’t even make Cook stir, and before his courage failed him, David bent down and pressed a chaste kiss to Cook’s forehead, ignoring the way his lips were trembling.  
  
“Thank you,” he breathed, and then he was gone.

  
  
  
They were silent as they walked; David could see Claudia shooting glances at him, but he didn’t bother to acknowledge them. His mind was full, his heart heavy. He knew he wouldn’t see Cook again, no matter the outcome of this venture, and it weighed heavily on him as they traveled.  
  
“David… “ He ignored Claudia’s entreaty, his hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. He heard her let out a frustrated breath. “David – !”  
  
Her words cut short; David glanced up at her in time to see her eyes widen, and then the sound of a car echoed behind them, the tires squealing as it pulled up alongside them.  
  
Cook stuck his head out of the window. “Need a lift?” he asked, honking the horn, and David stood there torn between feeling relief and anger.  
  
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his teeth clenched around the words.  
  
“You left the house looking like you’re prepped for battle, David. Without saying goodbye, even.” His lips twisted, and David fought the urge to turn away, knowing his abrupt departure had hurt Cook. “You really think I’m letting you do this alone?”  
  
“Cook, if the Bull – “ David started, only to be cut off by Claudia’s hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at her, questioning, but she merely raised an eyebrow and pushed him forward.  
  
“There’s no time for this,” she said, practically pushing him into Cook’s backseat and crawling in after him. “We need to go, now.”  
  
“Whatever you say, milady,” Cook chirped, and David saw a look of amusement tinged with annoyance pass between them. “Where to?”  
  
David swallowed. “The park. Where you found me. It’s there.” He knew it.  
  
He saw Cook’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Right. Let’s not keep it waiting then, shall we?” He stepped on the gas, the headlights cutting through the darkness on the road ahead, and they were off.  
  


  
  
David smelled it before he saw it. Cold and dark, like iron coating his tongue. It filled his nose, every breath he took tainted with the stench, and he could see that Cook was affected by it too, his eyes watering as they followed the familiar path.  
  
They could see the flames before they crested the hill, lending a red-hot glow to the dark of night. Fear nearly crippled David’s legs as they neared the blaze, but Claudia’s presence at his side and Cook’s hand sliding into his own gave him the courage to push forward, to meet whatever fate awaited him.  
  
The Red Bull stood waiting, its massive hooves shredding gouges in the ground. Around it the leaves strewn over the path were shriveled and burnt, and the flames blistering over its body reared into the night sky, setting David’s skin alight and filling his lungs with the acrid scent of smoke and heat.  
  
“Holy shit,” he heard Cook murmur, his fingers going tight around David’s. The action seemed to spur David on, had him reaching for his sword. He wouldn’t let any harm come to Cook.  
  
_Ah, ah, ah._  
  
David froze. He knew that voice.  
  
_I see I’ve got your attention, little Prince_. It echoed eerily in the silence of the park, and David stared at the Bull, watched it watching them with its deep black eyes. Was this the voice of the Red Bull?  
  
“What do you want?” Claudia snapped. Her sword was readied at the behemoth, gleaming like a jewel in the dark.  
  
A raspy laugh filled the air, high-pitched and piercing.  
  
_Don’t be coy, Princess. You know exactly what I desire. Don’t you want to return to your family, your friends? They’re all waiting for you_.  
  
Claudia went rigid by his side, and David knew she was remembering their siblings being forced, terrified and helpless, into the sea.  
  
“You – “ Her teeth were clenched around the word.  
  
_There’s no time for chatter, Princess_. The Bull tossed its head, opening its mouth to deliver a fierce, rumbling roar that shook the ground and showed off a row of sharp, jagged teeth. Cook’s fingers went vice-tight in David’s.  _Come, it’s time for you to return._  Before David could move or blink or ready his sword, the voice continued, slithering down his spine like a snake.  _Act wisely, dear Prince. You can either come with me, or I can raze this miserable ball of dirt to the ground. It’s your choice_.  
  
David drew in a harsh, ragged breath, letting it out in a painful wheeze. The Bull would tear the Earth to shreds, crumple the city that Cook called his home and kill thousands with nary a second thought. David had seen the destruction the Red Bull could wrought, and he couldn’t allow the Earth to be subjected to such devastation.  
  
“David.” Cook’s voice was urgent in his ear. “David, don’t you dare – “ But David paid his words no heed.  
  
He stepped forward, Cook holding tight to his arm. “Take me,” he said, and for once his heart wasn’t hammering in his throat. He felt strangely calm, weirdly at ease. “Take me and leave my sister and the Earth in peace.”  
  
“David – “ Claudia started, gripping his arm, only to be interrupted by a shrill laugh.  
  
_You wish to strike a bargain, Prince, is that it? A willing prisoner in return for sparing this world and your dear, sweet sister. How could I refuse such a tempting offer?_  
  
David sheathed his sword. He turned his back on the Bull, feeling infinitely less unsettled out of the view of that pitch black gaze. Claudia and Cook were holding tight to him, their faces twisted, despairing.  
  
“David, you can’t do this, you didn’t see what it did to the others, I can’t let you – !” Claudia’s voice rose, tears shining in her dark eyes, and David grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly in his own.  
  
“I have to do this, Claudia. Please. You have to let me go.”  
  
“David, fuck – “ Cook wasn’t faring any better; his face was cloudy, angry, and he pulled David toward him, hands curled around his shoulders. “That thing will  _kill_  you. You can’t just go with it!”  
  
“Cook,” David said gently, pressing the flat of his palm to Cook’s chest. He could feel how hard the other man’s heart was beating, could see the despair at David’s choice plain on his face. “I can’t let it destroy your home. I have to keep you safe.”  
  
“Damn it, David!” Cook yanked him forward, pressing his cheek to the side of David’s head as his arms wrapped around him. “You can’t.” His voice had grown soft, hoarse. David could hear it wavering. “David, you can’t… “  
  
“I have to,” David whispered. At his back he could feel the beast’s flames growing hotter, hear the explosive breath it released as it moved forward. He pulled back, untangling Cook’s arms from around him, and though it ached inside to have to turn away, Cook’s sad, heated gaze seared into his vision, David curled his fingers around his amulet and stood beside the Bull.  
  
He whispered the words that would lead him home, his eyes trained on Cook’s. The familiar tugging sensation pulled at his chest, tight and painful, and with a fierce wrench that drove the air from his lungs, David was gone.  
  


~*~

  
Cook stood staring at the spot where David and the Bull had been just seconds before. The ground was scorched, the surrounding foliage blackened and dead, and the Bull’s noxious, cold stench still filled his nose.  
  
Claudia sheathed her sword, kicking violently at the ground and growling out an obscenity that Cook hadn’t thought she knew. “It’s a trap,” she snarled. “It knows I’ll go after him. It’s going to drive us all into the sea.” Her fingers twined around her amulet, her lips moving silently. Cook recognized the rushed, whispered words as the same ones that David had murmured just a few moments before, and without thinking he made a grab for Claudia’s hands, interrupting her mid-stream.  
  
“You’re not going without me,” he said.  
  
Claudia’s eyes flashed. “If none of us can stand against the Red Bull what makes you think you’ll be any different? You’re just a human; you can’t help us.”  
  
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” he snapped. “I’m not sitting here while you and David go off to fight that thing. There’s no fucking way.”  
  
Claudia stared at him, her gaze searing, but Cook didn’t back down, didn’t turn away. “I could break your wrist in two,” she said, low. “I could make sure you stayed here. You’re no match for me.”  
  
“Maybe not,” Cook agreed. “But you won’t.”  
  
Claudia’s face clouded, angry. She let out a frustrated growl. “You and my idiot brother deserve each other,” she groused, grabbing a fistful of his shirt while she gripped her amulet in her other hand. “If we live through this, I’ll kill you both.”  
  
She muttered a string of nonsensical words that Cook couldn’t understand, her face thunderous, and a tugging sensation sparked to life in Cook’s chest, like someone had wrapped a first around his heart. It  _yanked_ , sudden and painful, and then Cook knew no more.  
  


~*~

  
David awoke to pain, a heavy weight circling his wrists, and cool, soothing fingers running gently over his face.  
  
He blinked sluggishly, his vision hazy for a few long moments before it cleared enough for him to see who was touching him. He gasped.  
  
“Mama!”  
  
His mother smiled gently, her hands shaking slightly as she pressed her palms to his cheeks. “Oh, David,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “I was so worried about you.”  
  
“I was worried about  _you_ ,” he cried, moving a bit unsteadily to his knees. “Claudia found me, told me you’d been taken by the Bull.“ There were three jagged scratch marks across her cheek, and David reached out to touch them. The weight around his wrists drew him up short, however, and with a disbelieving yank he realized he was shackled, thick iron cuffs chained to the wall holding him in place. His armor had been removed, leaving him clad only in the nightclothes he had donned before going to sleep back on Earth, and the iron burned into his bare skin. He pulled at his bonds, panic roiling in his gut as the shackles only seemed to tighten.  
  
“Be still, David,” Lupe shushed him gently. “You’ll hurt yourself if you try to escape them.”  
  
He stopped moving, the chains leading to the iron bands around his wrists clanging as they shifted along the ground, and stared in growing horror at his mother – his mother who was chained just like him, her white gown tattered and stained with blood, her eyes tired and sad and suddenly so  _old_  in a way he’d never seen them before.  
  
“Mama,” he whispered, “what’s going on?”  
  
“Ah, the young Prince awakens.”  
  
David froze, the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as the voice skittered its way down his spine. He  _knew_  that voice.  
  
“You… “ he rasped, turning his head toward the doorway.  
  
Standing in the threshold of the throne room was a thin slip of a woman, clad in a flowing dress the color of lilacs, jewels dangling from her ears and throat. Her long, dark hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back, and her eyes were sharp and wicked as she stared at the two of them.  
  
“I owe you my gratitude,” she said, striding across the debris-strewn floor toward them. David’s hackles rose as she drew near. “I was expecting quite a battle when I sent the Red Bull to gather the wayward Prince and Princess and see them safely home.”  
  
“You – “ David’s voice was a low rasp. “You sent the Bull?”  
  
“She’s a witch, David.” Lupe’s voice was soft, urgent. Her eyes were hard as she watched the woman approach. “She woke the Bull from its slumber. She sent it after us.”  
  
“It was glorious, wasn’t it?” The woman crooned, spreading her arms wide to encompass the great throne room, its walls crumpled, debris scattered across the floor. “No witch in the world can boast of such power as I – the power to raise a god, to  _control_  a god, to have it do my bidding as though it were a beloved pet.” She laughed lightly, the same high-pitched shriek that David had heard while he fled the castle.  
  
“You know better,” his mother murmured. Her hand sought his, wrapped tightly around it. “Let us go, and free the Bull, too.”  
  
The witch cackled, her nails, long and sharp, moving to a necklace dangling amid a string of pearls around her throat. With a start David realized it was an amulet – his mother’s, and he jerked his gaze to her. She shook her head silently, squeezing his hand.  
  
“I’d renounce all the witchcraft in the world before I did something so foolish,” the woman said, grinning sharp and toothy around the words. “There’s not a witch alive who hasn’t mocked my power, thought themselves above me. But you watch. Once they know that the great witch Paula has the Red Bull under her sway, the  _unicorns_  under her sway – no one will question my prowess, my power.”  
  
“Do not boast, witch,” Lupe said, her mouth a tight line. “Your death shadows your footsteps. You will know no glory.”  
  
Paula smirked. “We’ll see about that.” She snapped her fingers, the chains holding David and his mother bound breaking free from the wall and creeping like snakes towards her outstretched hands. She yanked on them once they reached her, hard, and his mother’s pained gasp seared David like a blade.  
  
“Now, now,” Paula tutted, catching his heated gaze as he and his mother stumbled unwillingly across the ground. “That’s a nasty look for such a beautiful face, Prince David. Surely you don’t want that to be the last thing your mother sees before you both take your rightful places, hmm?”  
  
David clenched his teeth, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of having rattled him. She was going to summon the Bull, he knew. She was going to make it drive them into the sea.  
  
He thought of Daniel, Jazzy, and Amber, terrified as the beast followed behind them, swallowing their footprints beneath his massive hooves. He thought of Claudia, alone, hoping fervently that she wouldn’t follow him, that she’d stay on Earth and protect it and its people as best she could.  
  
He thought of Cook, thought of the last thing he’d said to him. He wished that he’d been able to tell the human how he felt.  
  
Paula drove them out of the castle, the corridors all empty, silent. Scorch marks stained the floor, the walls, the flora withered and dead, burnt to a crisp by the Bull’s molten skin. Its scent was everywhere, had seeped through every stone, and David breathed out through his mouth, sick on the stench.  
  
Paula pushed them on toward the beach, the sand soft and cool under David’s bare feet. He had so many memories of this place, he and his siblings racing each other through the surf, playing with wooden swords along the coast.  
  
“Do you see them?” Paula asked, one long nail pointing at the swell of the sea crashing onto the shore. “All of their beauty, all of their power… They live in the sea now, and every tide still carries them within an easy step of the land.” She laughed, the sound grating on David’s ears. “They dare not take that step, they dare not come out of the water. They are afraid of the Red Bull.” She whispered a string of words David couldn’t understand; the chains melted away, the shackles around his wrists dripping like tar to the sand below, and in the same instant he heard a thunderous roar. Heat flared along his back, and he turned to see the castle seemingly engulfed in flames. They twisted and turned, reaching for the sky, and out of its depths rose the horned head of the Bull, followed by the fearsome bulk of its great red body.  
  
“I can see your fear,” the witch rasped, her voice like oil, like smoke. “The Red Bull can see it, too.”  
  
David gripped his mother’s hand, keeping her behind him, providing a barrier between her and the Bull. Smoke blasted from its nostrils, its hooves scorching the earth, and saliva speckled its mouth as it roared.  
  
“David.” His mother’s voice was soft and urgent against his ear. Her fingers trembled in his grasp, but she was a line of strength at his back. “Run, David.”  
  
“I’m not leaving you,” he whispered hotly, his eyes tracking the Bull’s approach, throat dry as he watched it lower its great head, its broad, curved horns shining a bright, alabaster white in the moonlight.  
  
“I am your mother,” Lupe said, her hand going tight around his, “and your Queen. You will do as I say. Now, run. You are the quickest of us all, you may yet escape – !”  
  
“But Mama, I – “ The Bull’s ferocious roar shook the rest of his words from his mouth. As if it had sensed the thread of their conversation, it had started to run, its bulk making the ground shake and tremble.  
  
“David! Go, now!” His mother’s voice rose on the acrid wind; he cried out, tears stinging his eyes, and broke free of her grip, falling into his other form, his true form, taking to the sand and the wind like a comet shooting across the night sky.  
  
“Foolish Prince!” he heard the witch shout. “Your speed is no match for the Bull!”  
  
David could feel the blistering heat at his back; he turned, changed direction, his hooves flying unhindered over the sand. The roar of the Bull followed him, made his breath catch; he ran, as hard and as fast as he knew how.  
  
The Red Bull followed close behind him.  
  


~*~

  
Cook gripped the silky silver strands streaming from Claudia’s long, slender head, muttering a string of obscenities as she dashed through the forest. The trees lunged at them, but Claudia veered around their trunks with nary a brush against the bark, her horn a blazing point of light. Cook wasn’t so lucky; branches scraped against his bare arms, leaving scratches that bled and itched while Claudia’s coat remained glossy and unscathed.  
  
“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” he shouted, his grip vice tight around her mane. They crashed through a wall of brush, leaves sticking to his face and neck, and he spit out a mouthful as Claudia thundered over the ground. “Christ, could you try not to maim me before we get there?”  
  
_Just shut up and hold on_. The amulet at her neck shone fiercely in the gloom, and Cook ducked his head down and held on for dear life; it felt like they were flying over the forest floor, the scenery a blur, and he knew if he weren’t so fucking worried about David, wondering if they were too late and what they could possibly do even if they weren’t, he would be fucking ecstatic about the speeds they were reaching.  
  
They burst from the forest into what appeared to be a courtyard, the walls covered with moss and vines, the floor nothing but soft grass that glowed blue in the light of the moon streaming down on them. Claudia kept moving, her hooves silent as they raced through open corridors, her sleek form darting around corners and through archways without pause.  
  
_Prepare yourself_. Her voice, tinged with that musical lilt that had been present in David’s the first and only time Cook had seen him transform, was coated with urgency, with unease. She was afraid, Cook knew, and he tried not to think about the look on her face when she’d told them about the Bull pushing her siblings into the sea.  
  
Within moments they were racing across sand, the ocean a wide open stretch of blue at their side, and there, up ahead, Cook could see –  
  
“ _Shit_ ,” he breathed. The Red Bull was tossing its head, its pale horns glinting in the moonlight, like two giant scimitars curving against the bloodshot sky. In front of it, dwarfed by the terrible light which poured from its steaming, molten body, was David, his horn dark, his hooves dancing across the sand as he tried to face down the behemoth.  
  
Cook knew it was him without knowing why; the point of his horn, the arch of his neck, the gleam of his silver coat – all of it had been seared into his brain the moment David stood before him that first day. His breath caught at the sight even now, and he gripped Claudia’s mane with hands that trembled as the Bull bellowed, lowering its head as it moved forward. David backed down, dashed to one side and the other, but the Bull headed him off, not attacking, but not giving David any way to go. Save one.  
  
_It’s driving him_ , Claudia cried, stamping her hooves.  _It’s driving him into the sea!_  
  
“Go,” Cook urged, clamping his thighs around her heaving sides. David’s back hooves touched the water, a sharp sound of distress echoing out across the sand. “Go, Claudia, move!”  
  
She reared, Cook clamping his fingers in her mane to keep from falling off, and with a kick of her hooves they were racing across the sand toward the Bull.  
  
“David!” he shouted, ignoring the lurch in his stomach as the beast turned its head toward them. “David, run! Run away!”  
  
David watched their approach with wide eyes for a beat, two, and then he was off, galloping hard toward them, his horn flaring to life as the Bull bellowed once again, the sky cracking in its wake and the ground shaking so violently Cook was surprised it hadn’t been torn asunder beneath the quake.  
  
The Bull was gaining, swallowing David’s footprints. It would run him down, trample him rather than pushing him out into the sea. Either way he would be lost, and Cook couldn’t – wouldn’t – allow that to happen.  
  
“Claudia,” he shouted, “Stop!”  
  
She ground to a halt, her indignant,  _What do you think –_ lost in the buzz that had settled inside Cook’s head; his body was moving almost of its own accord, clambering off of Claudia’s back and pitching forward across the sand, running toward David.  
  
_You can’t stop it!_  Claudia screamed, her musical voice trailing weakly after him, and Cook turned his head, shouted over his shoulder, “Watch me!”  
  
David’s wide eyes flashed by him; he could hear the boy turning, heard his voice calling to him as if from a great distance, and then it was nothing but the sea and the sand and the Bull, its heat and its rage engulfing Cook like a noxious cloud.  
  
He spread his arms wide against the approach of its blistering body. He knew he was no match for the thing, knew that this would accomplish nothing, but his body stood firm, resolute. The Red Bull thundered toward him.  
  
He closed his eyes before it struck.  
  


~*~

  
The Bull swung its massive head, its horns flaring pale and bright in the darkness. Cook went down under its bulk, the roar of the beast drowning out whatever cry he may have made.  
  
It left him lying on the sand, one side of his face pressed to the ground, his body a tangled, trampled heap. He drew in one last, rattling breath before he went limp. He did not breathe again.  
  
David turned; the Red Bull followed, trying once more to get David between its body and the sea, but it may as well have been a twittering bird for all the attention David paid it. He stood motionless, staring at Cook’s twisted body.  
  
He screamed.  
  
It was an ugly cry of pain and loss and sorrow, such as no other of his kind had ever made. The Red Bull hesitated at the sound of it, shuffling its hooves along the sand.  
  
A desperate anger filled David, tore his insides to shreds, and he reared, his horn flaring bright and sharp. The spray of the ocean at his back drove him forward, out of the water, and he leapt at the Bull, his horn burning as he charged.  
  
The Bull’s horns could have cleaved him in two, his hooves stamping David to pieces, and yet the beast hesitated, retreated. It quailed under David’s charge.  
  
Its hooves reached the water’s edge, sand swirling around them, and it stopped, staring at David.  
  
David lunged, ready to maim, to kill, but the Bull darted free of his reach, its back hooves stepping into the water but going no further. It didn’t attack, nor did it retreat. It merely waited, its voice rumbling wonderingly as David faced it down.  
  
David knew then that he could not kill it, could not destroy the wrath and destruction that was the Red Bull, but still he charged, driving it as it had once driven his people.  
  
A scream of fury halted his advance; he twisted his head to see the witch, her face ugly with rage.  
  
“I control the Bull!” she cried, spittle flying from her mouth. “I control the unicorns!”  
  
Her fingers curled like talons, twisting in the air as she conjured a spell. David barely heard her words, barely saw through the red haze that had settled over him. Only one thought was able to penetrate –  _she controlled the bull_.  
  
He reared up, trumpeting a battle cry, and leapt – away from the Red Bull, whose hooves were steaming in the sea spray – and toward the witch. Paula screamed, her eyes wide and wild.  
  
“Stop him!” she screeched, her heels sinking into the sand as she tried to retreat. “Stop him  _now_ , you worthless creature!”  
  
David heard the Bull’s low moan of rage, heard the rumble of its hooves across the ground at his back, but he paid its approach no heed. He had eyes only for the witch, her teeth bared in a snarl as he galloped toward her. Behind her anger he could see her fear and her desperation as she called for the Bull to protect her, and it fueled his movements, made him more fleet of foot. He felt no fear for the behemoth at his back, even as the flames that wreathed the beast’s body flared hot and angry against his skin.  
  
The witch screamed as he drove toward her, her wails of fear and anger lost in the rush of noise inside David’s head as he charged her down. He lowered his head, horn pointed sharp and true at Paula’s heaving chest, and between one heartbeat and the next, his horn pierced her flesh, parting skin and bone and sinew to sink into her blistered, shriveled heart.  
  
Her scream ended in a gurgle, blood pooling on her lips, and David felt it the moment her life slipped away, her power oozing like smoke from her pores as she fell into death. The sensation of his horn sliding wetly through her limp and lifeless body set his hind legs to quivering; he pulled his horn free, tossing his head, and blood dotted the sand in its wake.  
  
The Red Bull was waiting when he stepped away from the witch’s crumpled form. The blackness had leached from its eyes, leaving a pale, sightless white, and he neither fled nor made as if to attack.  
  
David lowered his head once more, aiming his bloody horn at the beast. He pressed forward, driving the behemoth back towards the water. He could not destroy the Bull, but he could drive it back to its slumber.  
  
As the Bull’s hooves hit the water, a searing whiteness surged and spread along the horizon. Within the waves flashed the seashell glint of horns, the silvery flash of manes and tails and the trumpeting of a thousand voices raised in song. His kin were coming home.  
  
With one last lunge David drove the Bull forward; it turned, slowly, lowering its great head, and took one lumbering step after another into the dark, swirling sea. Smoke shadowed its footsteps, the waves crashing to shore hiding its hulking body from view, and within a few moments it was gone, swallowed by the sea.  
  
As soon as it was gone the unicorns wavering in the water leaped forward as one, crashing like silver ships onto the land. Mad with freedom, mad with joy, they tossed their heads, their hooves ringing like bells upon the sand, a light like no other heralding their return from the raging sea.  
  
Some disappeared into the darkness, some flowed over the crumbled walls of the castle, intent on setting things to rights; some gathered, silent and shining, on the beach, watching David. Three, one taller than the others, raced across the sand like they had never known such joy, their eyes shining in the moonlight as they ran to meet Claudia and their mother. His family was safe at last.  
  
And yet…  
  
David turned, his hooves heavy, his heart a lead weight in his chest as he moved. Blood dripped from his horn, but he felt numb to both the sensation and the sight of the crimson drops as they fell to the sand below.  
  
Cook lay on his back, his once bright hazel eyes open and unseeing, already losing their color. David’s mother knelt at his side, her hand pressed to his chest. Her eyes were full of sorrow as she glanced up at her son’s approach.  
  
“David,” she said, her eyes wet. “Oh, David. I’m so sorry.”  
  
Blood matted Cook’s hair and soaked the sand upon which he lay, his clothes ripped and bloodied. Along his side was a terrible gash where the Bull had gored him. His body looked small, and broken, trampled beneath the Red Bull’s powerful hooves. Trampled because Cook had been trying to help  _him_.  
  
David lowered his head, pain twisting his insides like red hot lances. He had never felt such pain, sharp and icy in his chest. His eyes swam with tears as he stared at Cook’s broken body, remembering the rocker’s easy smile, his boisterous laugh, the brightness of his eyes whenever David had curled their fingers together. He had given David safety, and shelter, and love so easily, so guilelessly. He had followed Claudia without a second thought into danger, and thrown himself between David and the Red Bull.  
  
David lowered his head, pressing the curve of his nose to Cook’s cold cheek. He closed his eyes, breathed in the scent of iron and sand and, beneath that, the salt of Cook’s skin, the bare traces of cologne that he hadn’t washed away before bed. His heart  _squeezed_ , and it took all the strength his limbs possessed not to fall, bereft, to the ground.  
  
_Come back_ , he whispered, the scruff along Cook’s bloodless cheek brushing against his skin as he pulled back. He opened his eyes, tears swimming in their depths, and pleaded,  _Come back to me_.  
  
He touched his horn to Cook’s chest.  
  


~*~

  
Cook opened his eyes to a blanket of stars shining brightly above his head, the sound of waves crashing onto shore, and the soft voices of many echoing all around him.  
  
David stood over him, his wide hazel eyes bright with tears, and Cook blinked sluggishly, once, twice, reaching up with hands heavy and trembling to rub at his eyes. Another glance only confirmed what he had first seen, what he had thought for sure must be a trick of the moonlight – David’s bright, spiraling horn was gone.  
  
“David… ?” he croaked, pushing himself shakily off the ground only to pitch forward just in time to steady David as he fell, his long legs crumpling underneath him. They both fell to the sand, Cook with a muffled curse and David with a bitten off mew of pain, and Cook cradled David’s long, slender head in his lap, panic roiling in his gut.  
  
“David, what – “ His eyes widened as the memories assailed him, all at once like an avalanche tumbling down a mountainside, instant and devastating and unescapable. “I was dead,” he rasped, staring at David with wide, shocked eyes. He remembered the Bull charging at him, remembered  _pain_ , and blood, and darkness, and he pressed a hand to the rip in his shirt over his side, glancing down to see a long white scar spanning from the side of his chest to his belt line. “I – how did I… ?”  
  
A woman knelt by his side; at a glance he could tell she must be related to David, her face and eyes and hair all similar to his. His mother?  
  
She pressed her hand to David’s forehead. “He saved you,” she said quietly, brushing her son’s silvery hair away from the nub of horn nearly hidden by the strands, “at great cost to himself. It takes a great deal of magic to bring someone back from the dead, magic that must be freely given and cannot be taken back.”  
  
_Our magic – it lives in our horns_. David had told him that, once.  
  
Cook swallowed roughly, his eyes wet as he stared at David’s face. Even worn and colored with exhaustion, he was beautiful, his ears small and sleek, his skin downy white and soft to the touch. “Why?” Cook asked, voice hoarse as he ran his palm gently over David’s soft cheek. “David, why would you do that?”  
  
David’s luminescent eyes stared into his own.  _I couldn’t let you die_ , he said, simply, like there had never been any other choice, and Cook choked on a sob as he knelt over that slender head, pressing his forehead to David’s brow.  
  
“I’m not worth it,” he whispered brokenly, catching the glint of David’s broken horn from the corner of his eye. Tears rolled down his cheeks, fast and hot, and he closed his eyes tightly against them.  
  
David whickered softly, an airy, almost sleepy sound.  _Don’t be stupid_ , he said, and Cook could hear the conviction in his tone.  _You were worth it the moment you took me in_.  
  
Cook sobbed, wrapping his arms around David’s cloudy neck, rubbing his wet, stubbled cheek against the boy’s throat. David made a soft, wondering sound and curled his head over Cook’s trembling shoulder, holding him close.  
  
Within the span of one breath and the next his body began to shift, and Cook held him tight as the unicorn vanished like liquid moonlight, leaving a spent, naked boy in its wake.  
  
“Shh.” David pressed a cool palm to Cook’s cheek, turned his face so they could see each other. His lips were curled into a sleepy, joyous smile, and his eyes were bright. “Don’t cry, Cook.”  
  
“David, your horn – I… “ He couldn’t believe what David had done, had given up, all for him. “I’m  _sorry_ , god.”  
  
David tutted, pressing his brow to Cook’s. “Don’t be. My people are in the world again. No sorrow will live in me as long as that joy. You gave me the courage to fight for them, to bring them home. Look at them, Cook.”  
  
Cook glanced up, and there they were – so many of them, shining white in the moonlight, like a blanket of snow had fallen over the beach, their horns glinting like the points of tiny, blazing stars. Tears brimmed anew in his eyes at the sight of them, the joy they radiated as they stood there, free of the sea and of the Red Bull at last.  
  
“David… “ He’d never seen anything like it, and knew he never would again.  
  
David laughed joyously, breathy and clear and bright, and he wrapped his hands around Cook’s cheeks and tilted his head to press their lips together, soft and chaste and infinitely sweet.  
  
“You see,” he said happily as he pulled away, and all Cook could do was reel him back in, smiling against David’s mouth as they kissed once more.  
  
_Brace yourself, little brother_. They glanced up to see Claudia, her eyes radiating amusement as she stood with David’s mother and three other unicorns, all of them shining and bright-eyed and beautiful.  _You’ll be weak for some time yet, after that little stunt_. Her eyes glinted with sorrow at the reminder of what David had lost, had given up, and for a moment despair crashed over Cook like a wave, until David gently cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss to his brow.  
  
“My brother or sisters can see you home,” he said quietly, hesitatingly. “I won’t be able to travel for… for a while yet, but – “  
  
“I’ll stay.” Cook’s voice was resolute. He smiled crookedly. “If you’ll have me.”  
  
David’s eyes shone. “Of course,” he said, like the answer was obvious, and, Cook reflected, staring at the rose-colored mark on David’s forehead, maybe it was.  
  
David’s mother rose to her feet, addressing her children and the gathered unicorns at large. “Let us return home,” she said, smiling as a chorus of musical voices rose up in agreement, “and celebrate our good fortune.” She glanced at Cook, and he swallowed as he saw in her eyes acceptance and gratitude. “And the arrival of new friends.”  
  
The unicorns turned as one and dashed joyously toward the castle, David’s siblings rearing and shouting playfully as they danced along the sand. Claudia knelt at his side, helping him to stand, his arms snug around David’s back and under his knees.  
  
_I suppose I should say welcome to the family_ , Claudia mused, and David flushed a pretty, soft red.  
  
“Claudia – !” he started, only to turn his head shyly into Cook’s chest as Cook laughed, relief and happiness making him feel giddy.  
  
They traveled onward together, the sea at their side, with the promise of a brand new day on the horizon.

 

Bonus playlist by [sarageek16](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarageek16/pseuds/Sarageek16)!

 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m already planning a sequel/follow-up to this, so be on the lookout for that!


End file.
